


Eagle of the Gods

by Robin Hill (Mythichistorian)



Category: Space: 1999
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-08-19 18:45:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 101,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8221127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mythichistorian/pseuds/Robin%20Hill
Summary: When an attempt to upgrade an Eagle to give it extra flying range goes explosively wrong, four Alphans are sent hurtling into an adventure on a distant world.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Any similarity between this story and actual characters and events is purely a figment of the real Carole’s fevered imagination …
> 
> (Copyright © ATV limited. First published by the British Nick Tate Club, 1976)
> 
> Dedication: to Nick Tate, the real Carole and, above all, to Gerry Anderson, this book is humbly dedicated.
> 
> The author wishes to express his deepest thanks to the following:  
> Chris Nixon  
> Brian Johnson  
> Martin Landau  
> Barbara Bain  
> Catherine Schell  
> Tony Anholt  
> Zienia Merton  
> Barry Morse  
> Prentiss Hancock  
> Anton Philips  
> Clifton Jones  
> And all the SPACE:1999 production crews at Pinewood and Bray studios , including Tom Clegg and Robert Lynn, with special thanks to the unnamed unit photographer and prop man who answered all my awkward questions.

* * *

“Kemargien, it is time”

The tall, lean figure, looking out from the balcony at the starlit rooftops of the city, turned slowly to regard him.

“Very well, Evestregen. The girl is ready?”

The other nodded. “She is ready.”

“Yrtourbogen?”

“He is at his place by the altar. The people are waiting …”

Kemargien inhaled deeply, then strode into the richly decorated room. A haze of incense curled about him as he advanced on the low table before a plinth that stood against one wall. Evestregen followed him, the metal and precious stones that studded his cloak and helm glittering in the ruddy glow cast by a pair of torches either side of the altar.

Kemargien paused as Evestregen stooped, picking up a skein of what appeared to be liquid gold. He lifted it and draped it across Kemargien’s broad shoulders, his black clad frame disappearing beneath a shimmering halo of light. Kemargien closed the clasp at his throat with a crisp snap, then took the helmet offered by Evestregen. It, too, was gold, a scarlet plume pouring from its crown to spill like a waterfall to the floor behind him.

“I feel cold,” said Kemargien, simply, as he pulled the metal trimmed gauntlets onto his hands.

“Cold?” replied Evestregen. “But the night is warm …”

“No, old friend,” he continued. “Not that kind of cold.” He looked up at the marble plinth beyond the table. On it, hilt glittering with a sun’s ransom in gems, the blade glowing with the whiteness of polished steel, was a knife. Kemargien leaned forward, his fist closing on the stubby handgrip.

“All the fires of the underworld,” he said, turning it slowly before his faceplate to examine the catchlights striking from its razor-sharp, half-moon of a blade, “would not serve to banish _this_ ache from my bones.”

Evestregen glanced at the burnished, skull-like dome of his leader’s helm. “We do what must be done, Kemargien.”

“Of course,” nodded the other. “Nobody knows the importance of what we do than I. The girl is beautiful. Astra will be well pleased …”

“Truly she is a credit to her father.”

A ghost of a smile flicker across Kemargien’s face. “Thank you, Evestregen.”

“She goes to a greater reward,” the man’s voice was soft, comforting. “Astra will take care of her …”

“Yes, yes. Of course he will.” Kemargien nodded, turning to cross the room to the curtained doorway. “Come, my friend. Her moment of glory is at hand.”

The first roseate fingers of dawn were painting the horizon before the temple with warmth as the two cloaked figures began to climb the wide flight of stairs to its summit. A third man, dressed as Evestregen, descended to meet them.

“You are ready, Kemargian?”

The golden helm nodded briefly. “Ready, Yrtourbogen.” He turned, his cloak billowing in the cool morning breeze. He looked down at the sea of hushed faces about the square base of the pyramid tower, then up at the ruddy glow above the mountain range beyond. He glanced at Yrtourbogen.

“How is Dalny?”

“She is here,” replied Yrtourbogen. “And she is prepared.”

Kemargien nodded. “We have a little time. I wish to speak with her.”

Evestregen’s helm tilted towards his leader. “There is nothing in the ceremony that forbids it, Kemargien.”

“Very well,” the man beneath the helm sighed. “One last moment, then.”

He led the others to the summit of the pyramid. Four women, white cloaks swirling wraith-like about them, waited patiently. Behind the, decked with flowers and metallic jewellery, was a flat-topped, vaguely triangular block of stone, its top, lined with V-shaped grooves, angled towards the track of the rising sun.

“Dalny?”

Kemargien stepped forward. One of the white shrouded figures, shorter and, unlike the others, bare-headed, detached from the group and stood before him.

“Father …”

Kemargien walked to her, embracing her lightly as he inhaled the warm, musty scent of her golden, shoulder length hair.

“You are ready?” he whispered.>

“Yes, father.”

“Afraid?”

She nodded. “A little.” She bit her lip, nervously. “What if Astra rejects me?”

He released her, holding her shoulders at arm’s length before him.

“Dalny, my love,” he said softly. “Astra will be proud to take you, as I am to give you. He knows your beauty, as do I.”

Her eyes glittered. “Thank you, father.”

He smiled, returning the glow of affection that shone on her face. He was suddenly conscious of Evestragen at his side.

“Time grows short, Kemargien.”

“Yes,” he replied. “Come Dalny. Your moment is near.”

“Father?”

“Yes, my daughter?”

“If …” She glanced at Evestregen and Yrtourbogen. “If I cry out …”

“You shall not, Dalny, my love. I promise. You shall be spared the pain, or I die with you.”

She smiled a timid smile. “Thank you, father. I … I love you …”

“Heart speed, my daughter.”

Evestregen nodded. Behind her, one of the other females walked forward to take her cloak. She shrugged the film of cloth from her shoulders. Her naked body was tanned a deep, glowing brown, the dusting of gold powder that covered her catching blazing highlights from the fiery sky. She shook her head, her hair dancing in a brilliant cascade about her neck.

Kemargien smiled, pride lifting his soul. He took her hand and led her to the vast tablet of stone. The handmaidens retreated to the back of the tower as she lay across the grooved top of the stone. Kemargien stood beside the plinth to her right. Evestregen was opposite him to her left as Yrtourbogen stood by her head.

Beneath his cloak, Kemargien’s fist closed about the hilt of the sacrificial knife. His left hand extended, wiping a wisp of hair from his daughter’s face in a last, tender gesture.

“Goodbye, father,” she whispered.

“Until we meet again, Dalny,” he replied.

A thin sliver of sun bit a golden chunk from the horizon. A shaft of light tore across the summit of the tower, boiling about them in a miasma of flame.

Kermargien’s breath shallowed out as his entire being concentrated upon the peach-kissed valley between his daughter’s breasts. The shadow of the mountain range melted about them as the sun lumbered into the sky. His right fist crushed around the hilt of the knife …

“Forgive me, my daughter …”

The blade shone in the sky-borne light. With surgical precision, it descended, the force behind it so great it sliced through the girl’s sternum in one blow. The knife lifted and fell three more times, once through the fourth, fifth, and sixth ribs, parallel and to the right of the first cut, then once each above and below to complete the square incision in her chest.

Her body tensed, rigid with shock, her mouth open in a silent scream. Evestragen tore the smashed ribs from her chest as Yrtourbogen leaned over her, his hands closing about her still-pulsing heart.

Again the knife darted back and forth in the wound. With a gasp of triumph, Yrtourbogen leaned back, withdrawing his hands from her chest.

Still alive, blood pouring from her throat and chest, her last conscious experience was the sight of her own heart, beating strongly in the hands of the priest and held above her in mute obeisance to the molten orb above the distant horizon.

“It is done,” said Evestregen, eagerly, hypnotised by the fist-sized chunk of muscle held by his colleague.

“Yes,” said Kemargien, the knife held limply at his side as he stared at his daughter’s body, her blood pouring in a crimson torrent across the slab into the collecting bowls at its base. “It is done.”

He turned, eyes slits as he looked towards the awesome majesty of the being he called Astra.

“It is done …


	2. Chapter 2

Closing his left hand over the little hydraulic pump, he pushed it onto its mounting plate. He squeezed the “load” trigger of the anti-torque wrench with his right forefinger and a jet of carbon-dioxide blew a stud into the chuck. Directing the stubby, threaded shank of the fastener into a locating hole, he pressed the drive switch. A fine mist of gas crystals shuttered from the blow-off vents about the butt of the wrench as the stud spun home.

The chuck released as the wrench wound up to the pre-set torque level. He repeated the process twice more until the pump was fastened securely to its housing.

He closed the safety lever of the wrench and stowed it on a clip on the side of his chest-pack. The stiff, heavily insulated index finger of his left gauntlet touched a snaplock, releasing it from the tie-down plate on the bulkhead above him. Reaching up, he pushed at the mounting panel and drifted slowly clear of the great metal construct he had been working on. He smiled to himself as the huge steel and alloy insect swam lazily in the field of view offered by his helmet visor.

He thumbed a switch on the top of his chest-pack. A pair of tiny pulses thudded through his backpack as two carbon-dioxide steering rockets fired, checking his outward drift from the spacecraft. An error in estimating his centre of gravity caused him to pitch down in a lazy spin. Out of the corner of his faceplate, a vast, grey-white orb glowed invitingly up at him. 

His smile deepened as he saw a tiny, cruciform array of lights shining from one of the immense, waterless seas. Suddenly, for the sheer hell of it, he began to sing.

“Fly me to the moon and let me play among the stars  
Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars …”

In the off-white-coloured beak of the transporter before him, a dark haired figure in a bright orange EVA suit grimaced in theatrical pain. Tony Verdeschi, security officer and power systems specialist of Moonbase Alpha, leaned forward and jabbed at a control on the command board to his right. His slow handclap echoed over the communications link between the ship and the man in the spacesuit.

“Ra, ra, ra,” he said, sarcastically. “Old red-eyes in back. Give me a few minutes to tap into that incredible voice of yours and we can throw out the laser cannon as an offensive weapon.”

“Oh, for crying out loud.” Alan Carter, captain in the RAAF, currently seconded the NASA (though unlikely to be drawing any more pay from either establishment), jetted easily back to the open passenger module hatch.

“And you know just where you can put your laser cannon,” he said, fisting the airlock cycle button as he drifted through the gaping metal maw.

Verdeschi studied the image of the other man on the monitor between the command consoles of the ship. “Sure,” he said, as the passenger module repressurised and the lights flooded it with a comforting glow. “As long as you explain to the Commander about the misuse of strategically vital material.”

A trio of doors slid open behind him. Carter, helm in one hand, having discarded the rest of his EVA gear in the pod, strode through into the beak and slumped into the pilot’s couch. His suit squeaked as he reached forward and threw a pair of switches

“Right. How does that check?”

Verdeschi glanced at a status panel to his right.

“Well, we’re getting all greens now. Must have been the pump.”

Carter nodded. “Good.” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. “Phew! I’m beat.” He placed the helmet on the catwalk between them and reached for a clipboard held by an adhesive pad to the instrument panel on his left. 

“TacNav aerial,” he said, reading from the checklist. “Number three dipole alignment checked. Port for’ard thruster quadrant checked. Port auxiliary hydraulic systems checked in Null G.” He pulled a grimace. “That’s enough for this trip, I think.” He returned the clipboard to its panel. “Suit up. I’ll tell the Commander we’re on our way back.”  
Verdeschi smiled. It had been a long day. He knew as well as Carter how important this particular job was, but it was no use rushing things and making mistakes. He walked through into the passenger module as Carter contacted Alpha. The normally pristine interior was one hell of a mess, with rebuilt instrument panels scattered about the place on jury-rigged supports. The ship number was painted on the centre door at the far end of the pod. Verdeschi pulled a wry smile as he noticed it.

Thirteen. Eagle Thirteen, re-commissioned after saving the lives of her pilot and commander, when she’d held together against all odds in the terrible nuclear holocaust that had pushed the Moon from her orbit about Earth. Carter call her ‘Lucky Thirteen.’ Verdeschi had little reason to disagree, for he had been her pilot on that fateful September day.

But now she was no longer merely another transporter, in a group of dozen basically identical types. She was the focus of the somewhat melodramatically termed “Project Sledgehammer”, a venture attempting to uprate the power, speed and range of the standard Eagles. When they would be needed for the all important migration to whatever planetary body they would turn into New Earth, it would give the Alphans a much needed boost to their chances of survivial. Operation Exodus’ brand new weapon in the fight for existence.

“All right, you booze-peddling apology for an engineer, let’s get out of here before I die of starvation.”

Carter loped with an ungainly stride into the module, pulling his helm onto his head and locking the neck seal as he came. Verdeschi squirted a few grammes of carbon dioxide from his maneuvering unit to check it functioned properly and reached up to close the visor of his helm. Carter closed up and thumbed the depressurising cycle control beside the pod hatch.

Carter watched the loose strands of cable swirl in the miniature tornado caused by the compartment clearing. As the pressure dropped, the air in his suit ballooned it stiffly about him. The interior lights dimmed. He glanced at the row of gauges beside him, hearing the whisper of his and Verdeschi’s breath over the communication link.

“Zero, zero,” he said simply. The hatch slid silently aside, revealing the impressive majesty of the starfield beyond. Carter nodded behind his helm, and Verdeschi stepped forward and over the threshold into bottomless space.

Taking one last glance into the interior of the pod, Carter glided forward in pursuit of his colleague. As he left the pod, he could see the silvery gleam of starlight catching from the sharp angles of another Eagle, parked in a synchronised orbit with Thirteen.

A rapidly dispersing stream of ice crystals marked Verdeschi’s flight towards the other ship. Carter followed, mind pondering over the problems yet to be solved in the craft they had just left. He braked sharply before the hull of the other ship, turning to regard Thirteen with a professional eye. Forward of her tail section there was little to differentiate her from the ship behind him. But aft of her twenty metre frame grew a massive, strangely out of place mass of framework and tankage, the well down which their talents had poured for the past month and a half.

“Alan?”

Verdechi’s voice drew him back to the present.

“Right there, Tony,” he called, scudding sideways into the pod. The hatch closed behind him. The stiffness of his suit relaxed as the pod repressurised and the gravity motors engaged. He unclipped his back and chest packs and stowed them in the forward lockers of the pod.

“Brrr! These damn’ things get so cold in coast mode,” muttered Verdeschi, pulling the opening ring of a can of self-heating soup. He handed it to Carter as he opened a second can for himself.

“Cheers,” he said, raising it to his lips.

Carter smiled. “At least it’s better than that foul muck you’re always trying to pass off as beer,” he said, taking a sip of the scalding liquid, scowling as it cooled in his mouth sufficiently for him to taste it. “Though not much better,” he added, hoarsely. 

Verdeschi stood by the hatch leading to the beak, a wide grin on his face. “After you, Captain,” he said. “Your Eagle awaits …”

Carter shot him the facial equivalent of a shrug and drifted silently into the port seat. His left hand jabbed at a row of switches as Verdeschi sank into the other couch. 

“Carter to command. Eagle Six live and awaiting landing track.”

A breathy crunching sound clattered from a public address speaker on the console between them.

“Have you, ‘Six. Pad four clear, beacon Red Niner Five. Clear for de-orbit in thirty.”

Carter smiled at the familiar voice. “Right there, Sandra. Pour me a beer, I’m on my way home …”

* * *

“… That closes the genetic scans for all the male personnel. Female counts and cross-correlations are still on the nominal timeline we established on Day Fifty-six.” An amber light glowed from the memo-recorder as she touched the ‘pause’ lever on its top. There was an apologetic rustle as she shuffled the stack of plastifoil back into its folder and dropped it into its storage rack. She touched the lever again and the light dimmed. “Memo to maintenance,” she continued. “The stereotaxic frame we sent them still hasn’t come back.” She paused, wondering how to frame a polite request that somebody could extract his digit and get the said piece of equipment back into the medical section where it was needed. She gave up the struggle, saying instead: “Paul, just see if you can chase them up on this. I know how busy everyone is right now, but we have our jobs to do as well.”

She dabbed at a blue-topped switch with one elegant finger and leaned tiredly back in her chair. Her eyes closed, and she massaged her forhead with one hand as she combed her corn-blonde hair with the other.

Helena Russell was beat, physically if not entirely mentally. Since Breakaway, her duties on Alpha, never easily done, had multiplied a dozen-fold. As senior medical officer on the base, it had fallen to her lot to become quite literally a mother to the great family that was Alpha – one of the biggest and most racially mixed ever assembled, but a family nevertheless.

She stood, catching sight of her reflection in the glazed front of a body-plate reader. She scowled, and a tired woman returned the grimace.

“That’ll have to do for today,” she said, glancing at the half-finished, ice-cold cup of coffee she hadn’t had time for and curling her lip in distaste. As she picked it up to drop it into the recycling chute, the little grey box clipped to her belt uttered a plaintive bleep. 

Taking it, she pointed it at the video-display pillar beyond her desk. It bleeped again, and the four monitors glowed with the monochrome image of a dark, piercing eyed man.

“Helena?”

She smiled. “Hello, John. And to what do I owe this singular pleasure?”

Koenig smiled. “Join me for dinner, tonight,” he said. “My treat …”

Her eyebrow twitched, unimpressed by the very old joke.

“Sure, if I can choose the wine to go with the steak,” she replied, giving as good as she’d got. Koenig nodded.

“Anything you say, Helena. I’ll pick you up in half and hour …”

The coffee cup paused above the chute.

“You mean you’re serious?” she said, staring at his image.

He appeared surprised. “Sure. Why not?”

“Out of all the pretty girls who lust after our commander you chose little me?”

The electronic Koenig fixed her with a penetrating stare. “What other pretty girls, Helena?”

She smiled. As usual, he’d turned up to say just the right things to her. She felt the years roll from her like water from a duck’s back.

“All right, John,” she said, noting the digital clock beneath the monitor as it ticked over another minute. “Half an hour it is. Just give me time to shower and change and I’ll be right with you.”

His grin dissolved with the rest of him as the twin-A Alpha logo blossomed on the screen. Helena gave a little sigh of pleasure and crossed the floor of her office. The door opened at the sound of her commlock, revealing the interior of the main admin unit of Medical section. Dr Mathias smiled a cheerful greeting. He could afford to be so lively, having just come on duty. Helena nodded, looking past him at a figure sitting huddled over a stack of reports a mile high on her desk.

She advanced on her, pausing before the chart rack beside her. The girl didn’t look up, so intense was her concentration.

“Nurse Irwin?”

The other girl started, glancing up at her with a surprised expression on her face. She started to rise.

“No, it’s all right,” Helena said. “Don’t get up.” She frowned. “How long have you been on duty?”

The girl frowned, wiping a wisp of golden, shoulder-length hair from her forehead.

“Um, since Oh-Nine-Thirty,” she said, thoughtfully. She smiled, nervously. “There’s a lot to do …”

“Yes,” agreed Helena, “and I’m sure we have enough people to spare to at least give you a hand now and again.” Helena picked up one of the dockets, reading its cover. “These are the stage four genetic cross-checks …”

“Yes,” said the nurse. “I finished compiling the stage three statements this morning …”

Helena glanced sideways at the other girl.

“D’you realise you’ve just put us two-and-a-half days ahead of schedule on these cross-checks?” she said.

The nurse frowned. “I …” she began.

Helena’s face cracked in a wide smile. “Come on,” she said, nodding towards the office’s external door. “Leave that. There’ll still be plenty to do tomorrow, and you look as if you need a rest.”

The girl’s face shone with a relieved smile. She stood and followed Helena from the complex, already bussing with the eagerly efficient sounds of its dedicated team of technicians. They walked side-by-side along the airy, brightly-lit corridor, pausing before a large, square door above wish a sign proclaiming it to be ‘Travel Tube Four’ glowed greenly.

Helena buzzed for a transit chamber and, replacing her commlock on her belt, turned to the girl.

“It’s Carole, isn’t it?”

The nurse blinked. “Uh, what was that, doctor?”

Helena’s head tilted. “Carole? Carole Irwin?”

Carole nodded. “Yes, doctor.”

“The quiet one.”

She glanced at the floor. “Well, yes. If you mean …”

“I mean the quiet, efficient one that works herself into a state of exhaustion at every opportunity.” Carole opened her mouth to speak, but Helena continued, “And don’t try to deny it. I know everybody’s putting as much effort as they can to get this base back on its feet again, but you seem to be trying to do the work of three people.”

Helena studied Carole’s face. The girl avoided her eyes, looking instead towards the door before her.

“What are you trying to prove, Carole?”

She shook her head. “Nothing,” he replied. “It’s just …”

There was an awkward pause.

“Just what?” said Helena. “Is there something wrong?”

“No. Of course not …”

“Now look,” said the older woman. “It’s no use trying to pull the wool over my eyes.” She glanced at the warning lamp shining on the instrument panel by the door as the transit chamber arrived. She motioned the nurse into the chamber, saying: “If there’s anything wrong, tell me.” Carole sat on a couch opposite the doorway. Helena sat beside her, her voice softening as she tried to coax a response from the girl.

“What’s wrong, Carole? Is it boy trouble?”

The nurse’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh, no,” she replied, almost too quickly. “It’s nothing like that …”

“Well, for heaven’s sake, what is it? Come on, it’s what I’m here for.”

Carole inhaled deeply. Suddenly she spoke.

“When the waste dumps exploded,” she began, almost painfully.

“Breakaway,” prompted Helena.

“Yes. Well, I’d only been on base a couple of days. I hadn’t even had time to videphone my parents …” She paused, some memory flooding her eyes with tears. She controlled herself with an effort. “Then, a few days later, while we could still pick up the newsreel transmissions from Earth, I … I saw …”

“Yes, Carole. What was it? Something in the telecasts?”

“M..my home town. A tidal wave had hit it. Nothing left. All of them killed …”

Helena felt the wave of helplessness flood from the downcast girl.

“Carole,” she said softly, her hand lightly on the other’s shoulder, “you don’t know. A lot of people were airlifted from the disaster areas …”

Helena’s voice trailed into silence. She was trying to be kind, and Carole knew it. The youngster turned an agonised pair of eyes towards her.

“And I’m here. All alone. I’m all I have …”

Helena leaned back in her couch.

“Now what in space ever gave you that idea?” she said, a no-nonsense look in her eye. “You’ve a whole base full of friends about you, if only you’d open your eyes and look.”

The nurse gave a little, self-indulgent sniff. “But …” she began.

“But nothing. We’re all in the same boat, here. Everybody understands – there’s not a man or woman on Alpha who hasn’t lost a relative on Earth, either literally or because we’re no longer in Earth orbit.” Helena took her right hand in hers, squeezing it in comfort. “Talk to people, Carole, Make a few friends – real friends. Look outside yourself – you’ll find there are plenty of people like you. You’re not alone – nobody is ever alone, especially not on Alpha. Breakaway meant a whole new start for all of us – just you make sure you get off on the right track. Live a little, and don’t think your life ends for the day every time you close a file docket.”

Helena smiled. The corners of Carole’s mouth twitched.

“Never alone,” she said quietly.

“Never, Carole.”

The youngster smiled. “Thank you, doctor.”

“Call me Helena. At least when we’re off duty, anyway.” She glanced up at the route indicator as the chamber began to slow. “Get yourself a handful of friends – including boyfriends.” Helena threw her a conspiratorial wink. “If there’s anything this base needs it’s a little help in increasing its population, and a girl as pretty as you shouldn’t have much trouble in getting that particular message across.”

Carole smiled modestly as the chamber glided to a halt. The door opened, to the sound of someone singing on the other side.

“It’s impossible. To make love inside a spacesuit, it’s impossible …”

Alan Carter was in his usual fine voice. That is, it was if the grimace on the face of his companion, Tony Verdeschi, was anything to go by. He paused as he recognised the occupant of the couch in front of him.

“Hello, Helena. How am I these days?”

“Obnoxiously healthy, by the sound of things,” she replied as he stepped forward and dropped his helm into a convenient seat. “Allow me to introduce a friend of mine,” she continued, nodding at Carole. “Carole Irwin, meet Alan Carter, senior flying officer and best Eagle pilot on the base, which means the galaxy.”

Carter turned to regard the youngster. He had the unique talent of being able to animate one half of his face at a time and demonstrated this ability by aiming a devastatingly accurate, lopsided smile at her. The smile, the very same smile that had won the hearts of hundreds of girls in its time, and the souls of a good deal more, did its inevitable work.

“Hi Carole,” he said, “Helena’s only saying that because it’s true.”

“Hu … hello, Mr Carter,” she replied, timidly.

“Call me Alan,” he said, dropping into the seat beside her and slipping an arm around her shoulders. His smile was beginning to do incredible things to the pit of her stomach.

“Alan,” she repeated, automatically.

“That’s better.” He glanced at her sleeve, shining whitely under the cabin’s fluorescent lights. “Medical section,” he said. “Doctor?”

She smiled. “Not quite,” she said. “Only a nurse …”

One eyebrow twitched. “Only a nurse?” he repeated. “That’s like saying Von Braun was only a mechanic when he was at Peenemünde …”

Verdeschi chuckled. “There you go, Captain. Showing your age again …”

Carter glanced at him, then back at Carole. “This,” he said in a matter-of-fact voice, “is Tony. Tony Verdeschi. Great friend of mine, though at the moment he’s pushing his luck a bit. Oh, and don’t for the life of you let him try any of his crazy experiments on you …”

“Experiments?” said Carole, uncertainly.

Sensing the cue, Verdeschi began describing, at great length and complexity, his efforts to brew the ultimate beverage.

“Beer?” asked Carole, finally realising what he was getting at. “Where do you get the hops from on Alpha?”

“Hops?” said Verdeschi, in surprise.

“To make beer. You need hops in the brew that you ferment, or something.”

Verdeschi shook his head. “No hops on Alpha,” he replied. “I have to distil the alcohol from whatever organic material there is to hand …”

Carole frowned. “What kind of organic material?” she said.

“Judging by the last batch, Sandra Bene’s discarded underwear,” Chipped in Carter, sarcastically.

Verdeschi was about to return with ‘when did you last taste Sandra’s underwear?’ when he thought better of it, saying instead: “You wait ‘til I perfect the recipe, you ingrate. I’ll charge you double …”

Carte shrugged his shoulders, and smiled at Carole. She smiled back. Helena nodded and uttered a silent sigh of relief.

“Tell you what,” said the astronaut suddenly, “have dinner with me tonight and I’ll take you topside and show you the stars – real stars, not a telephoto or monitor image. What d’you say? Is it a date?”

She nodded, eagerly. “It’s a date, Alan.”

“Good.” He glanced at the clock on the monitor panel at the end of the transit chamber. “I’ll pick you up at nineteen hundred hours and we’ll paint the base red.”

The chamber shuffled to a reluctant halt. Carole stood, Carter standing with her, as the hatch slid open.

“Thank you, Alan,” she said. “I’ll look forward to it.”

He threw her a mock salute as the hatch jerked shut between them. He sat before Helena as the chamber accelerated away.

“All right, Helena,” he said. “What was all that about?”

She pantomimed a look of surprise. “What was all what about, Alan?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. You practically threw that girl at me …”

“And you did all the catching,” she replied.

“Only out of common courtesy, Helena …”

An all-expressive look appeared on her face. “Oh, yes?” she said.

“Of course. Now what is it? What does the mysterious Dr Russell have in store for this unsuspecting Eagle pilot of hers?”

“I want you to turn a little of that irresistible Australian charm of yours on one of my nuirses to give her something to think about besides tearing herself apart moping over a family she’ll never see again. Okay?”

Carter frowned, chewing the inside of his lip, thoughtfully.

“Is that what’s the matter with her?” he said. “I wondered why she seemed so edgy …”

Helena nodded. “It’s not just that she’ll never see them again,” she added. “I don’t know all the facts but it looks as though they were killed during Breakaway, and she’s doubly upset about it.” She sought out Carter’s eyes. “You understand, don’t you?”

“Yes,” said Carter with a sigh. “I understand.” Only too well, he thought, mind flitting back ‘way before that September all that time ago. She must have been Carole’s age when … when it happened …

He tore himself back to the present.

“I’ll do what I can, Helena,” he said. “Of course, I will, you know that. But …” he glanced at Verdeschi. “But what can I do?”

Helena leaned forward. “Turn on a little charm. Make her feel wanted – loved if you like. Give her something to think about, get her to meet people her own age and background. You know most of the people on Alpha, so that can’t be too difficult. Get her to snap out of herself before she cracks up.” Helena shrugged her shoulders. “I already have a very efficient nurse – I’d just like to have a complete human being as well.”

Carter nodded. “Okay, I’m convinced. But why me?”

Her voice lost its hard, persuasive edge. “Because you could talk the paint off an Eagle, that’s why. And besides, it’s not as if she wasn’t particularly pretty …”

“Mmm,” mused Carter. “Yes, I’ll give you that. She is very pretty.” He glanced at Verdeschi again. “All right,” he said, “you talked me into it, Helena. I’ll see what can do, but I’m not promising anything …”

“Chalk one up for Alpha’s number one Male Chauvenist Pig,” noted Verdeschi, a smile on his face.

Carter pulled half a grimace. “Well,” he said, “either you’ve got it or you haven’t …”

He stood as the chamber slowed yet again. He smiled at Helean, shaking his head ruefully. “Thank you, Alan,” she said, as the door nudged open.

“My pleasure, Helena,” he replied, stepping through into the corridor and turning to face her. “Besides, it’s a change to have a really enjoyable mission every now and again …”

* * *

A little under half an hour later saw Tony Verdeschi, sample flask in one hand and a couple of glasses in the other, padding softly along the corridor leading to Alan Carter’s staterooms. He paused before the outer door, lifting his commlock to the pickup set into its left frame. Before he could operate the unit, the door inched open, revealing a slim, statuesque and very, very beautiful dark-skinned girl, a bundle of what appeared to be female clothing in her arms.

“Just picking up a few things I left this morning,” she said, as if in explanation, a sheepish grin on her face. “Alan doesn’t know I’ve been,” she continued, “say ‘hello’ to him for me when you see him …”

“Sure,” said Verdeschi blankly, as she edged around the door. There was a flash of light and something small and metallic fell from the top of her burden. Verdeschi bent to pick it up, handing it automatically to her.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling impishly, a sparkle in her eye. She turned on one elegant heel, and was gone.

It was only then that Verdeschi realised what she’d dropped – an ear-ring, a green, circular ear-ring. _Odd,_ he thought. _Now where have I seen a pair of **those** before ..?_

“That you, Tony?” Carter’s voice, attenuated by the hiss of a shower, filtered from the other room.

“Uh, yes,” he called, aiming a last glance along the corridor down which Carter’s mysterious visitor had gone.

“Come on in,” the other replied. “You’ll have to excuse themes. Had a party last night. Haven’t had time to clean up the place yet.”

Verdeschi smiled at the interior of the lounge. It looked suspiciously as though someone had attempted to re-fight the Battle of Agincourt, complete with cavalry, sometime in its recent past. Carter emerged from the bathroom, one towel about his waist as he rubbed at his hair with another. He groaned as he saw the flask in Verdeschi’s right hand.

“Oh, no. Not another one,” he said, turning abd walking back into the bedroom.

“Recipe 92-A,” said Verdeschi, proudly, ignoring the unappreciative comments emanating from his colleague. “I think I’m on the right track, this time …”

“You said that about the last 92 batches,” said Carter, through the uniform shirt he was pulling over his shoulders.

“Yes, but I think I know what went wrong last time.” He peeled the hermetic seal from the flask and poured a generous slug of the rust-coloured fluid into each of the glasses.

Carter emerged from his bedroom, smoothing the folds from his shirt. Verdeschi intercepted him and thrust a glass into his hand.

“Try that,” he said, confidently.

Carter eyed the liquid suspiciously, as if Verdeschi had just let it slip that he was a distant relative of the Borgias. The brew made no apparently threatening gesture, so he lifted it to his face, sniffing at the glass’s contents as if he were a wine taster warned of a corked vintage.

“Smells like beer,” he confessed. “Almost.”

“You’re supposed to taste it,” said Verdeschi, impatiently.

Carter raised the glass to his lips again, taking the merest of sips.

“You can hardly expect to judge the taste on such a small drop, you philistine,” retorted Verdeschi. “Get a proper mouthful.”

Ever the impetuous one, Carter did as he was told, immediately regretting it. Torn between enjoying the sensation of the lining of his mouth being dissolved and wondering what effect the concoction would have on his stomach, he swallowed the lot, trusting his guardian angel was on form tonight. 

“Not bad,” he croaked, wiping the tears from his eyes with the sleeve of his tunic.

“What d’you think?” urged Verdeschi. “On a scale of one to ten.”

“Do you accept fractions?” replied Carter, his voice regaining a fair percentage of its richer tones.

Verdeschi’s face fell. “Oh, well,” he said, brightening and shrugging his shoulders. “Scratch 92-A.” He turned and headed for the bathroom.

“Now what’re you doing?” said Carter, picking up his commlock from its stand on a table beside and easy chair.

“Getting rid of this,” replied Verdeschi, activating the disposal unit. “Now I know it’s no good.”

“You mean you’re not going to try it?”

“Why should I? You did, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

Verdeschi returned, the flask in his hand now empty. “What was it like?”

“Terrible. Like it always is.”

“Then there’s no point me poisoning myself trying it, right?”

“Wrong,” said Carter, shaking his head. “Though I don’t know where …”

Verdeschi smiled. “That’s why I’m a security officer and you’re only an Eagle pilot,” he said, with impeccable logic.

Carter opened his mouth to speak, closed it again without saying anything, then frowned. Sill smiling, Verdeschi shrugged his shoulders and walked past him to the outer door.

“By the way,” he said, suddenly, pausing and turning to face Carter. “Who was at this party of yours last night?”

“Just a few friends. Why?”

“How about a girl? Dark skin, not too tall, well built. Very pretty.”

It was Carter’s turn to smile.

“You have your hobbies,” he said, quietly. “And I have mine.”

“Oh,” said Verdeschi. “Beats collecting stamps, I suppose.”

“You’d better believe it,” replied Carter. Verdeschi nodded, turning back to the door. Carter was about to follow him when he noticed something on the shelf unit against the wall. Verdeschi watched him as he picked up a picture in a chromed frame and hung it back on its hook in the centre of the panel. He stepped forward to study the photograph, for that was indeed what it was.

He frowned. “Satellite photo?” he said, suddenly recognising the oddly coloured dots that spattered the field of view.

Carter nodded, suddenly – and uncharacteristically – subdued.

“Latitude minus five to minus ten degrees, longitude a hundred and ten to a hundred and twenty five.”

Verdeschi looked sideways at his friend. “And the mouse?” he said.

“Mouse?” said Carter.

Verdeschi pointed at the little grey felt animal on the shelf below the photograph. Carter stared unseeing at it, his mind returning over the years to a past he once knew. And to the lean-limbed, dark-skinned girl that had shared a little of her life with him …

“Alan?”

“Uh, yes, Tony.”

“Something wrong?”

“No,” he shook his head. “No, nothing. Just that … well, that girl …”

“Carole?”

“Yes, Carole. She reminds me of someone I once knew.”

“Carole? How?”

“Well, you get the impression that she’s frail, delicate – no, that’s not the right word. Helpless, perhaps. Helena was right, she really is alone.” He nudged the picture a little straighter on its hook. His mouth twitched. “Ah, that the hell,” he said, suddenly. “Come on. I’m taking a new girlfriend to dinner tonight and I’d hate to be late.”

Verdeschi shot him another significant look, then he, too, shrugged his shoulders and turned again to the door. Carter nodded after him, then glanced at the grey object. Almost as an afterthought, he picked it up and, tucking it into the top of his belt behind his commlock, turned to follow Verdeschi from his quarters.


	3. Chapter 3

“For the last time, Ebron, no!”

She turned from him, her pretty young face puckered with impatient anger, her bronze, waist length hair dancing over her shoulders.

“Listen to me, Elnhe, please,” he said, taking another pace closer to her, his uniform boots clicking across the stone flags of the floor. He glanced at the tall, white-robed female, standing silently beside the open door beyond Elnhe. “See reason,” he continued. “If not for my sake then for your father’s.”

Her eyes flickered to his tanned face, blinking the tears painfully from them. “Did he send you?” she snapped.

“No. I came because …” He paused, shaking his head in mute helplessness.

“Why?” she said. “Tell me. Or are you afraid Astra will strike you down as punishment for this blasphemy?”

The fists inside the heavy gauntlets tightened. His heart pounded beneath his armoured chestplate.

“I came,” he said, forcing his voice to be calm, “because I love you …”

“Because ..?” she said, her angered expression relaxing in puzzlement.

“Because I love you,” he repeated, his voice getting louder as his temper shortened.

“Ebron,” she whispered, shaking her head, her eyes melting as they filled with tears. “It is impossible. Astra has forbidden it …”

With a choking gasp of emotion, she ran forward. His arms clasped her tiny form to his chest as she sobbed shamelessly into his shoulder.

“I cannot allow it, Elnhe,” he said softly. “I will not allow it.” He placed his hands on her shoulders. “By my sword and armour, my love, Astra will not have you …”

“I … Ebron, I love you, but we cannot … Astra will not allow …”

He frowned. “Astra can do nothing, Elnhe. Only those foolish enough not to see the truth can harm us. And I am a warrior – I was trained well and can use the sword and armour I was given. Those are the only truths. Elnhe. Won by the soldier and the scientist, not by some light in the sky …”

“Ebron,” the white-garbed female stepped forward. “The preists return. I can give you no more time with her.”

The man nodded. “You are not to worry, understand?” he said. “I shall be back, and all the preists in the city can’t hope to stop me.” He turned to the other woman. “My thanks to you, handmaiden …”

She shook her head. “It is of little consequence, my child. There is nothing you can do, believe me. Astra will have this girl, no matter what you may try.”

“We shall see, woman,” he replied, climbing over the sill of the rooms only window. “Farewell, Elnhe,” he said, smiling up at her. He glanced at her chaperone. “I shall be back,” he warned, menace in his voice. A last glance at the girl and he dropped from the window.

He rolled adroitly as he hit the dusty ground below, standing and beating the dirt from his uniform. He straightened the swirling cloak and pushed his helm onto the back of his head. Anger steeled his expression as looked up at the sun.

The sun that in turn stared mockingly down at him …

* * *

“There it is. The large star in that group. System 9461.”

Carole peered along Carter’s outstretched finger as he pointed up into the star studded sky. He smiled. “I told you I’d show you some real stars,” he said, lowering his arm to her shoulder. “This is the best way to see them.”

“Think New Earth is up there?” she said, softly.

He shook his head, pulling her nearer to him. “I don’t know, Carole,” he replied. “We’ll soon find out, though,” he added. “Our relative velocities put the moon about two months out from maximum transporter range. That’s a standard Eagle transporter, of course. Look,” he nodded at a silvery glint just above the horizon to their right. “That’s Eagle Thirteen,” he said, pride in his voice. “She’ll be finished soon. Even at this distance she could reach 9461 in a couple of days.”

She snuggled a little closer to him as his arm tightened about her shoulders.

“Hey, are you warm enough?” he said, concern in his voice. “These surface buildings are supposed to be shut down. We’re lucky we’ve got air in this one and it’d be too much to hope for heat as well.”

She gave a little nod of her head. “I’ll be fine,” she replied, glancing out at the harsh greys and browns of the landscape beyond the thick plexiglass windows. “I didn’t realise how beautiful the moon could look …”

“All it took was for you to open your eyes, Carole.”

She smiled. “Thank you, Alan. For showing me all this. For …” She looked up into his eyes. “For everything …”

He returned her smile. “I haven’t done anything yet,” he said.

Her cheeks flushed redly. “Yet,” she reminded him.

His expression underwent a subtle, but noticeable change. He turned to look up at the metallic mote in the sky that was Eagle Thirteen. Suddenly, he spoke: “Carole, I was asked to take you out tonight …”

“Yes,” she replied. “I know. I … I hope it wasn’t too much of a chore …”

He threw her a rueful smile. “If it is a chore,” he said, “It’s been a very enjoyable one.” He looked from ‘Thirteen to the star at the centre of system 9461. “All I wanted to do was a favour for Helena. Bring you out of your shell and make you realise there are still things to live for.”

“Was?” she noted.

He exhaled with a sigh. “That’s how it started, but … “ He glanced at her suddenly puzzled face. He shook his head. “I don’t know if you’ll understand … Look, try and see it this way. You think you’re alone on Alpha. You’re not the only one, believe me. We all get lonely at some time or another.” He placed his free hand on the window frame, staring absently out at the ash-grey soil that surrounded the building complex. “What I’m trying to say is that I understand what loneliness – real loneliness – is …”

“You once lost somebody close to you?”

He nodded. “Yes,” he replied. “Very close. A girl I knew, years before Breakaway – before I was an astronaut, even. Neither of us was very old – I was a pilot trainee, she was a native of one of the islands where we trained.” He paused, breath shallow, as if speaking was a great and painful effort for him. The slightest of smiles twitched the corners of his mouth. “Looking back now it does all seem so childish, but we did mean a hell of a lot to each other.” His smile deepened as he re-lived some pleasant memory. “I used to call her Kitten,” he said, glancing at her. “ Silly, isn’t it?”

Carole made no sound, motionless in his embrace. Carter’s expression hardened abruptly. He looked out at the moonscape, saying: “One day she had a call to return to her parents. Illness in the family, or something.” Another pause, his voice beginning to thicken with emotion. “The aircraft she was in crashed on landing. Went into the ground and blew up. Everybody aboard killed on impact. Two hundred and sixty-eight people. And Kali.”

“That was her name?” she asked softly, feeling herself sharing his grief.

He nodded, clearing his throat. “I helped analyse the data from the flight recorder. A glideship predictor had failed. That ship hit the ground at close on three hundred miles an hour …” He stared sightlessly at the horizon, his blue-grey eyes glittering icily. “A bloody ten-cent circuit blew and all those people died …”

He checked himself with a visible effort, reaching behind his commlock for the little fabric animal.

“This is the last thing she ever gave me,” he said, holding it before her in a pool of light cast by a warning beacon on the roof of the building.

“A mouse?” she said, frowning at it.

“Yes. I told you how childish it all was. She was only a kid …” Again the hesitation. “She said that, as I called her Kitten, it was the only logical present she could give to me.” He turned it over in his hand. “I’d like you to have it,” he said.

A variety of expressions fought for possession of her face.

“Me?” she replied, shaking her head in incomprehension. “But why?”

Carter appeared not to notice the question, looking instead at the glint of reflected starlight that was Eagle Thirteen.

He exhaled sharply. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t usually burden my girl-friends with all this, but somebody just reminded me of Kali, and …”

She stared painfully at him as his voice tailed to silence.

“Who reminded you of Kali?” she said, after what seemed like an eternity.

He turned towards her, face calm and eyes relaxed.

“You did,” he said, simply.

Something exploded deep inside her, flooding her soul with emotion.

“I remind you …” she said, weakly. “How?”

The corners of his mouth began to lift. “Because you’re quiet,” he said. “Little and delicate. Almost … almost helplessly vulnerable.” His right hand reached up to comb a tendril of hair from her cheek. There was a pause, an almost eternal moment. Their eyes met and held, his voice soft, whispering: “And very, very beautiful …”

His left arm turned her shoulders, pulling her into his chest as his right slipped around her waist. Tears of joy streaming down her face, their lips met in a totally tender embrace …

**‘BLEDEEP!’**

Panic clawed at her heart as they separated, Carter inhaling suddenly and deeply as their lips parted.

“Oh, for crying out loud!” he snapped, snatching the commlock from his belt and looking impatiently into the video plate in its top.

“Carter,” he said sharply, as Sandra Benes’ concerned face appeared on the screen.

“Alan, we’re reading trouble aboard ‘Thirteen.”

His expression froze. “What kind of trouble?”

“Oxygen valve failure. The beak is flooded with pure oxygen and we can’t release the surge valves.”

“Power up an Eagle,” he said, thinking as fast as he dared. “Who’s on standby?”

“Tony’s on his way to pad four,” she replied. “We are powering up Eagle Ten …”

“Does the Commander know?”

Sandra nodded. “Commander Koenig has gone to Eagle One with a systems specialist to see if they can work out how to free the valves from inside the passenger module.”

Carter wiped a fore-arm across his eyes. “Okay, Sandra. I’m on my way to pad four. Tell Tony to lift off as soon as I’m aboard. Carter out.” He replaced the commlock on his belt as the screen dimmed, turning to face Carole.

“So much for the romantic moment, Carole,” he growled. “Sorry, but …”

“It’s all right, Alan,” she replied. “I understand. I … Can I wait for you at the pad?”

“It could take some time.”

A smile flitted across her lips. “I can wait …”

He leaned forward, giving her a brief but sincere kiss. “There y’go,” he said. “Here,” his hand opened, the toy animal lying on the palm. “Look after the mouse for me. I’ve an Eagle to take care of …”

* * *

In an awesome blaze of power, Eagle Ten lifted majestically from the scarlet cross at the centre of pad four. Below ground, safe behind a maze of bow-back tunnels and massive concussion doors, Carole glanced upwards as the shock of the exhaust cones rattled dimly through the superstructure of the complex. She turned, looking to the image transmitted by the unblinking eye of a surface camera on a monitor screen. The Eagle, already a tiny speck at the centre of the scan-field, drifted silently into orbit.

“Take care, Alan,” she whispered, the fingers of her right hand absently exploring the contours of the little grey creature. “Please, take care …”

* * *

“Positive track. Positive line. Beacon AOS in ten.” Sandra Benes studied a flickering readout display, the fingers of her right hand flitting lightly across the command board before her.

“Confirm Beacon signal,” sang a metallic voice.

“Okay, Alan,” she replied. “Paul?”

Paul Morrow ran a tired hand through the shock of his brown hair. “Right down the line, Alan,” he confirmed, glancing from a bank of monitors to Command Centre’s main display screen. A multi-hued schematic of ‘Ten’s orbital trajectory filled the image, a flashing light that represented the ship locked firmly to the predestined track.

Morrow leaned on the edge of his desk, apparently oblivious to the empty chair behind him.

“Good launch, Alan,” he said, punching up a sequence of navigation instructions on the key board beneath his right hand. He glanced back at Sandra, seated before the console to his left. “Better warn the Commander that he’s on his way.”

Aboard the Eagle, Cater threw the triad of switches that engaged the autopilot, feeling with quiet satisfaction the merest of lurches as the computers lined up their course towards the homing beacon calling from the other ship. With a heartfelt sigh, he leaned back in his couch.

“Passable launch,” muttered Verdeschi, slipping his seat straps and gliding up and back towards the opening hatch behind them.

“Glad you enjoyed it,” muttered Carter, requesting the latest update on ‘Thirteen’s telemetry from her computers. He scowled as all the wrong numbers began to march stubbornly across the screen, then frowned at the rapidly growing chunk of metal through the tiny triangular window in front of him.

“Damn!” he said suddenly. “What the hell’s going on up there?”

There was a clattering sound from the access tunnel behind him as Verdeschi climbed into an EVA suit. Carter unstrapped and pushed himself clear of his couch as the other man resumed his seat.

“We haven’t had any oxygen system problems before,” he remarked, studying the coloured readouts as Carter unpacked his suit.

“We got one now,” he replied, working his feet into the integrally-moulded boots, cursing his slowness as he did so. “And a bad one. Could put the project back weeks.” There was a rasping sound as he closed the suit’s main zip. Sealing the neck ring to the suit, he glided forward, frowning as he read the continuing readout on the display. “Navigation coordinates?” he said. “When did you program those?”

“System check of the TacNav aerial. I loaded it while you were EVA fixing that pump.”

Carter nodded. “Sure. I should’ve realised. What is it, 9461?”

“That’s right. Though it doesn’t look as though we’ll be needing it for some time.”

“Never say die, Tony, old mate,” he replied, closing the seal of his right gauntlet and pulling himself back into his seat. His left fist closed over the control yoke as his right released the autopilot switches. His right hand returned to the yoke, the thumb pressing a button on the top of the grip.

“Carter to Command Centre,” he called. “Starting terminal approach … now!”

* * *

“No, that’s no good. They’ll be in suits, remember?”

John Koenig shook his head at the maze of pipework and stood up, turning to face the red-sleeved technician beside him. 

“That’s all I can think of Commander. We’ve never had a failure like this before …”

“well, we’ve got one now, dammit! “ snapped Koenig. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then knelt before the open inspection port again. “All right,” he said, “let’s try …”

His commlock bleeped.

“Koenig, yes?”

“Helena here, John. Any news of Alan and Tony?”

“They lifted off a few minutes ago, Helena. No news yet. I still haven’t figured out how we’re going to free these valves.”

“You’re treating all the ‘Thirteen systems as inert?”

Koenig nodded. “Have to, Helena. The minute we start trying to operate motors and relays aboard that Eagle we risk generating a spark that could blow it from here to everywhere.”

Helena nodded, shuddering as she recalled the films she’d seen of oxygen-fed flashovers. It didn’t take an engineer to appreciate the fact that at this moment the beak of Eagle Thirteen was one huge bomb, a bomb that Alan Carter and Tony Verdeschi would have to get into to defuse.

If they could defuse it.

“You have a medic team standing by?”

“They’re on their way, John,” she answered. “Full decompression drill, fire, toxicity, the lot …”

A row of symbols superimposed on Helena’s image, warning him of someone else who was trying to contact him.

“Have to close, Helena. I’ll be right back.” He thumbed a button on the device’s side. Sandra’s face appeared.

“Alan has rendezvoused with ‘Thirteen, Commander. He is about to start his EVA.”

“Do you have any pictures?”

“Affirmative. From the cameras aboard Eagle Ten.”

“Patch them into this Eagle, Sandra. I want to see what’s happening.”

A video monitor in the forward wall of the passenger module flickered into life. Koenig stood before it, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Sandra. Do we have an audio link with Alan?”

“Coming up now, Commander.”

A crunch of static rattled from the speaker below the screen, followed by the rhythmic hiss of a man breathing in the confines of a helmet.

“Alan, this is Koenig.”

“Read you, Commander.”

“How’s it look?”

There was a pause as the other man made his first, tentative investigation of the damaged ship. On the screen, a pair of suits formated lazily on the spidery machine. In a gout of silver mist, one of the figures glided forward.

“Nothing obviously wrong on the outside, Commander,” said Carter, his voice on the speaker strangely detached from the reality on the screen. “We’ll have to go inside.”

“Whatever you think, Alan. There’s nothing we can think of here.” Koenig glanced at the open panel beside him, then back to the unreal tableau unfolding on the screen. “Watch yourself, Alan. We can replace the Eagle far easier than we can replace its pilot.”

Carter nodded grimly behind his faceplate. Aiming a last, cautious glance at the innocently immobile beak, he maneuvered down towards the pod hatch, steadying his left hand against the outer skin, at once motionless against the backdrop of stars.

“Sandra,” he called, studying the hatch control on the plating before him.

“Yes, Alan?”

“Do we have anything new on telemetry?”

“Negative, Alan.”

“How does the pod read?”

There was a pause as, several hundred miles away, Sandra Benes consulted a string of data on a Command Centre display.

“Zero pressure,” she replied. “Drop valves open, gravity motors and lights off.”

Carter glanced the length of the pod. “Tony?”

“Here, Alan.”

“Check the dump ports. Sandra, I want you to blow about a Kilo of nitrogen into the pod. Leave the dump valves open. We’ll see if she really is open to space.”

“Will do, Alan,” she replied. Carter leaned back, watching as Verdeschi maneuvered over the vent arrays on the top of the pod above the hatch. Side-slipping to an easy halt above the pod, he reached down to the notepad clipped to the front of his left thigh. The stubby fingers of his gauntlet closed over the edge of the topmost layer of plastic film, pulling it free. His right hand gripped the control spigot of his backpack. A pair of twinkling rainbows blossomed about him, driving him forwards and down. As he passed the skeletal spine of the Eagle, his left amr hooked around a cross-piece and his right released the spigot. Shifting his grip to his other arm, he rotated above the vent array, left arm extended. The sheet of plastifoil spread out before him above a fluted nozzle set into the pod skin. His head nodded behind his visor.

“Ready, Alan.”

Carter inhaled deeply. “Okay, Sandra,” he said, his voice fatally calm. “Release the nitrogen.”

Somewhere below and behind him, her index finger depressed a key. With inhuman efficiency the computers took over, commanding the ship with a calculated determination that no man could match. A circuit energised, a selector flicked home. Another circuit began counting electronic impulses as an actuator opened a valve.

Carter gave an involuntary flinch as an invisible stream of gas burst from the vent, catching and whipping the sheet of foil from Verdeschi’s grasp. The counter reached its target, the actuator closed, and the selector relaxed. He exhaled slowly, watching the piece of plastic, sparkling as it caught the light, tumble uncontrollably away from them.

“Okay, Sandra,” he said, reaching forward again. “Pod looks clear. I’m opening the hatch now.”

Verdeschi began to drift towards him as he pulled the lever that would unlock the port.

“Hold off, Tony,” he warned, as the white slab of metal nudged silently open. “If anything goes wrong I’ll want someone to pull me out and fast.”

“Understood, Alan.” Verdeschi backed off, stationing himself a few metres out and slightly forward of the open hatch. With the emotions of a paratrooper making his first drop under fire coursing through him, Cater jetted towards the unholy maw. As he entered the pod, the comforting glimmer of the starfield vanished behind him. Without an atmosphere to refract and reflect the light, the interior of the pod was pitch black and ice cold.

_I’m inside a drifting bomb …_ was his only thought …

Carter breathed deeply. It was a rare moment when he experienced a fear of some dark or high place. Had he bothered to analyse it, he would have realised it was neither, but the single, universal fear of being alone – alone in the dark, alone at the cliff’s edge.

Or simply alone.

“Christ, where’s the bloody lights?”

The sudden, harsh sound of his own voice comforted him, banishing the primeval fears to the backwoods of his own mind. Mentally kicking himself for his moment of self-indulgence, he crabbed awkwardly around, his right hand pawing for the instrument board he knew to be just inside the hatch.

Something contacted his fingertips. A blaze of light exploded silently through the chamber, tinted amber by the atom-thick layer of gold plated onto his visor.

“Phew! We have light,” he said, thankfully, regaining his bearings now that he could see the floor. His left gauntlet caught a handrail and he pulled himself towards the forward bulkhead. He drifted into a panel, absorbing his momentum with the push of his left hand. With unhurried skill, he released the straps that held the backpack to his suit and shrugged it from his shoulders. A touch of a lever set into the bulkhead released a pair of snap-rings, each trailing a tether line. He secured one to a D-ring on the harness of his backpack and clipped the other to his chestpack.

He glanced forward. The pod and aft connecting tunnel doors were open, revealing the impressively solid-looking forward door. Beyond it would be the beak hatch and the fire-sustaining bubble of gas that threatened not only him and Verdeschi but the entire population of Alpha.

He consciously shallowed out his respiration, confident now that he could control the fear that he could taste in his mouth. Hand over hand, he pulled himself into the connector tunnel, turning to face a row of inspection plates to his left. Bracing his feet and left hand across the span of the tunnel he unlocked a pair of latches and swung the lower panel open.

He squinted at the pipework, frowning in concentration. Finally, he spoke.

“Commander.”

“Yes, Alan. We read you.”

“I can’t see anything wrong here,” he said, bitterly. “Everything looks okay to me …”

Back aboard Eagle One, Koenig was kneeling before an identical maze of plumbing.

“Read me the valve settings, Alan,” he said, desperately seeking some insight into the problem.

“Okay, Commander.”

Carter slipped his fingers around the lip of the inspection port and drew his faceplate level with a bank of levers. “Oxygen circuit,” he said, eyes following the snaking mass of tubing as his forefinger tapped each valve in turn, “main supply isolator open, standby isolators one and two both open. Pod cross-match closed, manual purge closed, manual overpressure …” He paused, then gave an all expressive grunt. “That’s it,” he said. “Manual O.P. is closed here but I still read pressure downstream.”

“Damn!” said Koenig quietly. “That means we can’t isolate the beak from the pod.”

“Okay, Commander,” replied Carter. “I’ve closed off the circuit now, but unless we bleed off through another line we’re stuck with a beak full of oxygen.”

Koenig considered this for a moment.

“Sandra,” he said, suddenly. “What’s the pressure in there?”

“Twenty-two point five P.S.I., Commander,” she replied.

“That’s over pressure,” confirmed Carter. “The automatic valves trip at point six.” He pushed clear of the port and glanced up at the nozzle of the dump valve set into the connecting doors to the flight deck. “We can’t risk that through these relief valves, Commander. The friction could ignite the seals. They’d go off like an arc cutter.”

“Commander,” Verdeschi’s voice. “Can I suggest something?”

Koenig nodded, despite the fact that the astronaut could not see him. “Suggest away, Tony,” he said. “Anything you can think of.”

Verdeschi scudded a little closer to the hatch. “Alan, can we unship the O.P. line and bleed the beak through the damaged valve?”

Carter was about to speak when Koenig interrupted him.

“We already thought of that, Tony,” he said. “You can’t get at the connectors if you’re in a suit. There’s no room for the glove boxes …”

“We can still repressurise the pod, can’t we?”

“Sure,” said Carter, beginning to see what the other man was getting at. “The pod atmosphere’s on a separate circuit to the beak.” He smiled. “Hey, Commander,” he called. “Tony’s right. We can repressurise the pod up to overpressure and work out of the suits …”

“We can open the line, suit up and blow off the whole ship through the pod vents,” added Verdeschi.

“You’re risking an arc-over in the oxygen that leaks through when you crack the line,” Koenig warned.

“Not if one of us stands over it with a nitrogen line and dilutes it as it comes through,” countered Carter, thinking faster than he had ever done before. “I say we try it.”

Koening nodded.

“Okay, Alan,” he said, “but watch yourself. There could be damage on that ship we don’t know about.”

He turned from Eagle One’s oxygen feed system and stood before the pod’s display monitor. He glanced towards the engineer. “Contact Command Centre,” he said. “Power up this ship and have them relay a rendezvous flight plan to us, just in case.”

* * *

“…twenty-two point five-two P.S.I.” read Verdeschi, confirming the pressure indicated by the pod instruments against the gauge on the top of his chest-pack. Without comment, Carter opened the balance valves on either side of the neck seal of his suit and unlocked his helm. Verdeschi did likewise as he began to shed the suit. Kicking free, he shoved the now shapeless bag of material into a convenient locker and delved once more into the inspection tunnel.

“Right,” he said, to no-one in particular. “Let’s have a look at this O.P. line …”

The crack of vaccumed-hardened seals and the whine of motors spun him round.

“What the hell ..?”

“Alan!” yelled Verdeschi. “The doors. Something’s triggered the doors ..!”

The twin hatches slid back, opening a bubble of explosively pure oxygen to the interior of the pod. A spark from a carbonised motor brush planted the seed of fire and, with the roar of a blast furnace, a great gout of yellow flame boiled from the heart of the beak and across the span of the cabin …


	4. Chapter 4

Koenig slammed the inspection hatch shut with the heel of his hand.

“Get this thing powered up,” he yelled to the startled engineer. “Helena,” he called, jabbing at the buttons on his commlock. Her shocked expression appeared on its screen. “Get aboard. Forget about the medic team, there isn’t time.” Another touch of the commlock controls and he was patched into Command Centre. “Sandra, get this ship topside. I’ll eyeball a rendezvous if you can load an approximate track to ‘Thirteen…’”

* * *

Helena’s commlock bleeped at the blast door leading to the pad access. As it shuddered open, the hurried patter of footsteps sounded behind her.

“Dr Russell!”

She turned. Carole, face flushed, her chest heaving as she caught her breath, stood anxiously before her.

“Carole, I …”

“Dr Russell,” she panted. “I heard it over the link. Something’s happened to Alan …”

A rumble vibrated through the floor as the lift winched Eagle one from her sile to the launch level.

“We’re going out to him now,” explained Helena, driving her elbow into the red-outline panel behind her. The frangible cover shattered and fell away, revealing a rack of silver boxes, each emblazoned with a scarlet cross.

She dragged two of the boxes from the locker and handed one of them to Carole. Mutely, she took it, as the mechanical crunch of the end of the access pod engaging with the pod hatchway reverberated through the chamber.

There was a hiss, a pair of hollow thumps, and the door cranked open.

“Come on,” commanded Helena, turning to run along the tunnel. “If anybody’s hurt, I could use some help.”

Caught up in the suddenness of events, Carole automatically obeyed. She clattered into the pod, Helena snatching the medical kit from her and dumping it unceremoniously into a storage bin.

Koenig’s voice echoed through the cabin. 

“…Paul, release the access tunnel. We’ll take it with us. We’ll need it to dock with Thirteen. If Alan and Tony are hurt we’ll be unable to EVA to them.”

Morrow’s voice added to the calculated mayhem that filled the cabin. “You have it, Commander. Liftoff in twenty. Pad clear …”

“Check twenty,” confirmed Koenig’s pilot. “Pod sealed. Retracting tunnel.”

“Helena?”

“Here, John,” she replied, closing her shock harness.

“Hold on. It’s going to be a rough trip.”

“Rough as you like, John,” she replied, glancing at the youngster beside her. “Just get us up there.”

Koenig’s hand hovered over the throttle array, him glaring at the countdown pulsing on the monitor with growing impatience. With a high-pitched, single frequency tone, the last ten seconds counted into eternity. There was a low, angry buzz, and a row of zeroes tracked across the scene. His hand jerked and his fingers depressed the four demand keys. With a scream of power, the lift engines built to ninety percent in little more than a tenth of a second, pushing the protesting frame of the Eagle skywards. The fingers stabbed a second time. With the bellow of a mythical beast, the main drive spewed flame, dragging the Eagle, access tunnel and all, into the free vacuum of space.

Koenig released the lift throttles, dropping his G-laden hand to the horizontal drive throttles, nudging them the last ten percent onto the limits of their quadrants. A twitch of the attitude yoke corrected the slight port-down roll due to the imbalance of the access tunnel, and Eagle One powered sub-orbital in pursuit of her crippled sister.

Carole gasped as the G-forces tore through her spine. She had bitten her lip, the salt tang of blood beginning to fill her mouth. Her concern was not for herself. In her mind’s eye she could see Carter, body seared by the fire, his mouth open in a silent scream as the flame he inhaled turned his lungs to dust …

“… I said, are you alright?”

“What?” Carole blinked owlishly as Helena bent over her.

“You passed out. How do you feel?”

She shook her head. “What happened?” she said, shaking her head woozily. “We at ‘Thirteen already?”

“We’re coasting up behind her,” replied Koenig, unclipping tools and instruments from a storage rack in a bulkhead in front of her. He managed a concerned frown in her direction. “You all right?” he said. “We took more Gs than is healthy back there …”

“I’ll be all right,” began Carole.

“That was one hell of a launch, John,” commented Helena, turning to her. “You sure you’ll be all right?”

Carole blinked a pair of bloodshot eyes at her. “I’ll be fine, really I will …”

Helena unstrapped some undefinable piece of medical equipment from one of the medic packs and knelt before her. 

“Where does it hurt, Carole?” she said, reaching for a wrist and peering into one eye. 

“I’ll be all right,” repeated Carole, “Doctor, I’m okay, really I am …”

Helena frowned. “You stay there,” she said, standing and returning to the medic pack.

“But …”

“No buts, Carole,” she ordered. “Sit still. I’ll take care of everything …”

“Doctor, I …”

Helena turned a stern expression onto the youngster. “Nurse Irwin …” she began.

“But I want to help,” she said, desperately.

Helena began to shake her head, suddenly seeing the hurt in the other girl’s eyes. “All right,” she said, finally. “But sit still until I need you.”

“I …” began Carole, “I don’t want to be a burden …”

Helena allowed herself the luxury of a smile of encouragement.

“You’re not, nurse. Don’t worry.”

There was a crisp click as Koenig closed the storage locker. “Stand by, Helena,” he warned. “We’re coming up on Thirteen now.”

Helena nodded, sitting beside Carole.

“Nurse,” she began.

“I’m going aboard with you, doctor,” interrupted Carole. “If Alan’s hurt …”

“Carole, we don’t know what happened up there. There’s been an explosion, a fire. It won’t be very pretty …”

“I don’t care, doctor. I … I’ve got to know, whatever happened …”

Helena glanced forward into the beak. The sounds of quiet urgency echoed back to them from the pilot and commander. She looked back into the girl’s face, seeing the tears that glistened in the corner of her eyes.

“Alan means a lot to you, nurse?”

She nodded. “He talked to me,” she said. “Really talked. Told me things … Things he …”

“Yes, Carole?”

“Dear God, don’t let him be dead. Please don’t …”

“Docking signal acquisition, blow reactors.” Koenig’s confident voice snapped the pair of them back to reality.

“Zero zero linear,” called the co-pilot. “Lateral five port, sink plus two.”

“Correcting sink,” muttered Koenig, peering intently at a video image of the starboard side of ‘Thirteen. “Looks okay from here,” he said, jabbing almost nonchalantly at the vernier thruster control deck under his left hand.

“They had the fire inside the cabin,” said the co-pilot, a little unnecessarily. Koenig frowned at him as Carole bit her lip once more.

“Checking lateral drift,” he said, looking back towards the monitor. He leaned forward and thumbed a control. The picture jumped as the magnification changed. A pair of cross-hairs glowed onto the screen, beyond which could be seen the silver thruster-cone at the side of the other Eagle’s beak. Koenig began juggling with the thrusters of ‘One, lining the cross-hairs against the cone.

“Gyro synch,” he said, suddenly. The co-pilot peered into his monitor, then gave him the thumbs-up signal time had made eternal. “Delta nothing, Commander, pitch, roll and yaw. On line and track.”

Koenig heaved a sigh of relief. All they had to do now was slide sideways another few tiny metres and they’d lock firmly with the other ship. With the merest of thumps, every thruster on the starboard side vented into space. Wonderfully responsive, Eagle One drifted as if on air-bearings towards her partner in the bizarre interstellar ballet that played itself out above Alpha.

There was a crunch as the docking tunnel contacted the other pod. A warning tone sounded from the console in front of him as Koenig closed a row of switches, holding them down against their over-ride release springs. The Eagle slid sideways once more, the cabin rocking as the tunnel hit the other ship again.

“Lock, dammit,” hissed Koenig, as more warning lights and tones pulsed and blared at him. Something thumped through the floor, and most of the red lights dimmed. Koenig released the throttles and heaved a sigh of relief.

“Docked,” confirmed the co-pilot, wiping a rivulet of perspiration from his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt.

“How does that pod read?” snapped Koenig, loosening his harness and striding towards the passenger module.

The co-pilot flicked over switches and peered back into his monitor.

“Eight P.S.I, nitrogen, carbon monoxide, carbon dioxide,” he grimaced, “oxygen, just.”

“Breathable?”

The man shook his head. “Just about, Commander, but …”

“Crack the hatch.” Koenig dragged an oxygen kit from a rack of gas bottles in the connector body, then turned to the co-pilot. “As soon as we’re aboard ‘Thirteen, close up and back off. If anything else goes wrong I don’t want this ship wrecked as well. Clear?”

There are times when it is inadvisable to argue with the Commander. Now was one of them. He nodded. “Aye, Commander,” he replied. “I’ll be a hundred meters lateral when you want me …”

Koenig was gone, standing by the hatch when it opened. As it cracked from its seals there was a hiss of equalising volumes of gas, and a plume of smoke washed through from the other cabin.

“Jesus, what a mess.”

For a few, precious seconds, he stared, horrified at the interior of the pod. Smoke billowed about blackened and flame-seared instrumentation. 

“With me,” he called, snapping from the shock that froze him. He plunged into the clouds of smoke as Helena and Carole followed him.

“Tony? Alan?” he called as the pod doors closed behind him. Mercifully, the lights were stlll on and the gravity motors still operated.

“John!”

He spun at Helena’s voice. She was kneeling beside a smoke grimed body.

“It’s Tony,” she said. “Alive, just.” She cracked the snaplocks on the medic pack and began to unravel an oxygen mask. Beside her, Carole was looking desperately about the interior of the pod.

Koenig walked forward, pulling wrecked instrumentation aside as he went. Something shifted beneath his feet. He glanced down, icy fingers clutching at his heart as he saw what he’d nearly stood on.

A human hand, emerging from beneath a twisted inspection cover.

“Nurse,” he called, kneeling and pulling the plate to one side. Carole stood over him, trembling with shock, as she saw the grey-faced form of the man who, less than an hour before, had opened his heart to her.

“Alan ..?”

“Painkiller,” said Koenig. “He’s in shock …”

She shook her head, the medic pack forgotten in her hand. “No,” she whispered, “He’s not dead. Please, he can’t be dead …”

“Nurse! For god’s sake …” Koenig snatched the pack from her, tearing it open and pulling and assortment of disposable syringe kits from it. Discarding all that didn’t interest him, he tore the protective seals from one of them and plunged it into Carter’s throat. The pressure capsule fired with a tiny hiss, pushing the drug into the injured man’s system.

“How is he, John?”

Koenig shook his head. “Don’t know, Helena, but I’m no Doctor. What about Tony?”

“He should be okay. I’m pumping his lungs full of fresh air. At least he isn’t burned …”

Sanity returned to Carole with a jolt. She knelt beside Koenig, the respirator held firmly in her hands.

“Commander, I …”

He glanced at her, a suspicious frown on his face.

“I’m sorry, I … It won’t happen again. Here, let me help …”

His expression relaxed. “Okay, Nurse,” he said. “You know what to do?”

She nodded.

“If he inhaled any flame …” he began.

“Yes, I know,” she replied, forcing her voice to be calm.

Koenig aimed a single, significant glance at her, then stood and turned towards the gutted interior of the beak.

“Let’s see what we have left of this thing,” he said, gruffly, dropping into the command couch.

Carole blinked the tears from her eyes as she combed a lock of hair from Carter’s forehead. Thank god it didn’t burn his face …

“Nurse, how is he?”

She started. Helena was at her side, a selection of hypo phials in her hand.

“Respiration and heartbeat steady,” she began, determined to show to the other two that she could cope with her emotions, “pupils dilate, burns to the left arm, both hands …”

“All right, Carole, it’s going to be all right.” Helena made her own check, nodding wisely as she did so. “What about his back?”

Carole shook her head. “Back?” she said, almost in surprise.

Helena began to pull at his shoulders. “Give me a hand,” she said. Between them they lifted him and placed him on one of the seats of the module.

“We’ll have to cut this shirt,” said Helena, absently, frowning at the burns to Carter’s arms. “Sit next to him, nurse. Don’t let him lie on that arm.”

Carole gave her an automatic nod and sat beside him. Helena rummaged about in her medic pack and produced a pair of scissors. In a moment, she had cut the shirt free and was running an expert eye over the astronaut’s naked back. Carole studied her as she reached her decision, almost jumping out of her skin when, with a hollow coughing noise, Verdeschi began to regain consciousness. Helena pressed a small canister into her hands.

“Antibiotic creams,” she said. “Cover the burns and surrounding skin …”

Carole caught her eye.

“He’ll be all right?”

Helena nodded. “They both will,” she said, pushing Verdeschi back into his seat and unclipping his respirator. “Another few minutes though …” she added, leaving Carole to complete the thought for herself. She nodded, then, squirting a walnut-sized blob a cream onto her hand, began to work it into Carter’s injuries.

A low moan filtered from beneath his facemask.

“Alan?” She dropped the canister and, cursing her clumsiness, began to unclip the mask.

“Alan?” she whispered. “Can you hear me?”

The mask fell from his face. His eyes, no longer bright, but reddened and brimming with smoke induced tears, stared blearily up at her. The corners of his mouth twitched.

“Huh ..hi, Kitten,” he croaked, painfully. “What kept you?”

She hovered above him, wanting to laugh and cry at once, the tears filling her eyes.

“Alan!” she gasped. “Oh, my god, Alan. I thought you … I …”

She fell, sobbing, into his chest, oblivious to his pained and surprised gasp as he tried to put his arm around her.

“Hey, Carole,” he whispered, his cream soaked hands held helplessly above her.

“I thought you were dead,” she said, softly. “I heard the explosion over the commlink. Then, when I saw you here …”

“It’s all right, Carole,” he promised. “I’m going to be fine …” He glanced up into Helena’s smiling face. “Tony?” he said, simply.

“He’ll be okay,” she replied. “You both been very lucky …”

He nodded. “Carole,” he said. “Kitten?”

She swallowed the pain and relief from her throat, looking up into his face.

“Yes, Alan.”

He leaned forward and kissed her, a kiss she returned gladly,

“I’m all right,” he repeated.

“Your hands …”

He did his best to shrug his shoulders. “Sore. Just a little.” The lopsided smile returned to his face with a vengeance. “Like an idiot, I had them over this ugly mug of mine, as if it needed saving from an explosion …”

She gave a little sniff as she tried to gather he scattered wits. “Not ugly,” she replied, pique in her voice. “Weather-beaten, perhaps. Rugged …”

“About as rugged as Hadley Rille in a bad light,” muttered a familiar voice.

Carter craned his neck towards the aft section of the pod. Verdeschi, wiping the smoke from his eyes with a bandage pack, leaned back in his couch and grinned.

“And where the hell were you when I needed you,” called Carter, suddenly relieved at seeing his companion in some semblance of good health.

“Just about to tell you where you were going wrong,” he replied, dropping his face mask back into the medic pack.

“Great,” muttered Carter. “Meet my friend, the engineering expert with 20-20 hindsight.”

Verdeschi leaned forward. “You all right, Alan?” he said.

Carter draped the least injured of his two arms around Carole’s shoulders, pulling her into his chest. 

“Ask me again in a couple of hour’s time,” he said, kissing her again.

“This is one hell of a way to fly an Eagle.”

Carole jumped, almost falling off Carter’s lap, as Koenig walked across the pod. She sat up, sliding decorously to her end of the couch as Koenig nodded at his senior pilot.

“How do you feel, Alan?”

“Better than it looks,” he confessed, trying to wipe the sticky ointment from his hands onto the front of his thighs.

“Tony?”

Verdeschi shrugged his shoulders. “Sore throat,” he said, “and a wrenched back I picked up trying to get out of the way of the fire.”

Koenig nodded, turning to Helena for the final verdict. “How are they, Helena?”

She smiled. “Nothing a few days in sickbay won’t fix,” she said.

Carter smiled at Carole, who reddened in embarrassment.

“Especially if we have our own, private nurses,” he said, glancing towards Verdeschi for confirmation.

“Certainly,” he agreed. “I hear Intensive Care have some great total-body monitor gear these days …”

Carter mouthed a suitably aboriginal comment and glanced back at Carole, who had lapsed into a distinctly contemplative silence. He had opened his mouth to speak when Koenig turned back into the beak.

“All right,” he said. “I’m calling Eagle One …”

Carter stiffened as Koenig’s voice suddenly paused.

“Commander ..?”

“Alan! She’s live.”

Carter was out of his seat and across the passenger module in a moment.

“What is it, Commander?”

He dropped into the pilot’s couch as Verdeschi leant against the beak hatch.

“There’s a countdown on this monitor,” said Koenig. “Less than a minute.”

“Must have started in the explosion,” muttered Carter, tapping at controls that, maddeningly, refused to respond. “This board’s dead,” he said finally. “Do we have an abort code?”

Koenig shook his head. “Nothing listed on this monitor.”

“How long we got?” said Verdeschi, unclipping an inspection cover from a rack if instruments behind Carter.

“Less than a minute,” said Koenig, closing his harness. “Helena, Carole,” he called, “strap in. If we can’t shut down this sequence …”

“Thirty seconds,” called Carter, as a warning tone sounded from the console in front of him. “Back into the pod, Tony. If that drive fires at a hundred percent …”

“Warn Eagle on,” said Koenig. “Tell him to hold off …”

“Ten seconds,” yelled Carter. “Tony, get out of here …”

“If I can pick up the abort circuits we can kill the drive before she engages,” said Verdeschi, stubbornly, pulling circuit boards from their racks and peering closely at them.

“Too late, Tony,” commanded Koenig. “Back into the pod. The acceleration’ll break your neck …”

“Failsafe’s operating in power mode,” said Verdeschi, shaking his head. “If I can interrupt the abort circuits …”

“Damnit, Verdeschi,” snapped Koenig, “get into the pod and strap in.”

“Too late, Commander.” Carter’s fists closed over the ends of his seat armrests as, with an electronic squeak of warning from the console, the main drive exploded into life. Something grabbed his skull, slamming it back into the headrest as, behind him, Verdeschi overbalanced and went, heavily, into the bulkhead.

Moments before Carter blacked out, he heard the screams of tearing metal and the thump of shredding machinery as ‘Thirteen began to break up around him …

* * *

An expression of mounting horror on her face, Sandra stared at the flaring tail of ‘Thirteen as it drew further away from Eagle One.

“… no use, Paul,” Koenig’s co-pilot was saying. “She’s got five times my acceleration. If I open up any more I’ll tear the engines from their mounts.”

Morrow nodded, jabbing angrily at a row of switches.

“Okay, Eagle One,” he said. “We copy. Break off pursuit and return to Alpha. Pad three, beacon Green Two-Six.”

He slumped, dejectedly, into his seat, then glanced at Sandra.

“Do we have a course plot?”

She nodded. “They’re on line and track for system 9461,” she said, nodding at a schematic that had appeared on the main monitor screen. “Tony plotted a test program. They must be following that.” She looked away from the screen, her voice catching momentarily in her throat.

Morrow frowned. “What is it, Sandra?”

“Radar is picking up debris – metallic fragments.” She looked into his face. “It’s breaking up, Paul. “’Thirteen is shaking itself to pieces …”

* * *

The can was cold enough to give him frostbite. Wiping the condensation from its top, he hooked a finger under the ring-pull and peeled back the sealing strip. Lifting the can to his lips, he took a long, deep pull at the amber fluid …

“Pilot trainee Carter!” yelled a voice. “Front and centre!”

He choked as the beer foamed in his throat. Coughing the bubbles from his nose, he turned to survey the source of the untimely interruption. She smiled a row of pearly teeth at him.

“For crying out loud,” he said, walking towards her. “I ought to …

“Ought to what?” she said, stepping forward into a shaft of sunlight that filtered through the roof of the battered lean-to. Her body was slim and lithe, her olive skin, that wasn’t covered by the briefest of bikinis that she wore, glowed like burnished bronze.

A lopsided smile lit his face.

“Hmm,” he said thoughtfully. “I suppose I’ll think of something …”

His arms slipped around her shoulders, one hand pulling at the tie-cord of her halter top. The low, mournful drone of a quartet of high-bypass turbofans washed inshore on the evening breeze. He glance seawards, seeing the transport’s bulbous fuselage outlined against the glow of the sunset as it flew steadily towards the mainland.

“Alan?” she said, pulling herself closer to him. “Forget about your silly aeroplanes now I’m here. Alan. Alan..?”

* * *

“…Alan? You okay? Helena? Anybody?”

“Urrgh!” Carter shook his head, failing miserably to dislodge the ache od the buzzing from his ears.

“Welcome back,” said Koenig, wiping a smear of blood from the corner of his mouth. “You all right?”

Carter ran a hand over the back of his neck, reassuring himself that it had not, in fact, broken. “I’ll live,” he said. “How are the others?”

“I’m just going to check. I blacked out …”

Carter grimaced. “Welcome to the club,” he said, slipping his harness locks and standing up. “I wonder …”

The sight of Verdeschi’s crumpled form lying across the aft bulkhead stilled the words in his throat.

“Tony!”

He knelt beside his colleague’s battered body, feeling for a pulse in his throat.

“Stimulant,” said Koenig, slipping a disposable hypo into his hand. “I’ll take a look at the others.”

Carter winced involuntarily as he studied the bruised and bloodstained face of Versdeschi. There was even blood on the bulkhead in front of him. He checked the injured man’s pulse, offering a silent prayer to whichever gods were listening that it was still there, and growing stronger as Verdeschi’s system recovered from the punishment it had endured.

He pressed the hypo to the front of Versdechi’s shoulder, discharging it through his shirt. Verdeschi jumped as the powerful drug burned through him. 

“Urgh!” he grunted. “Wassup? What happened?”

“We test flew the main drive, Tony, old mate,” said Carter, dabbing at a graze on the back of his right hand, dismissing his burns with the merest of glances.

“Test flew?” repeated Verdeschi, nodding at the bits of bent pipework emerging from a sprung inspection panel in the tunnel behind him. “How? To destruction?”

Carter stepped over him and prodded absently at the remains of a hydraulic amplifier. He gave one of his famous, all expressive grunts.

“Hmm,” he added. “Looks very much like it, doesn’t it?”

Verdeschi sat up and wiped most of the blood from his face with the already grimy sleeve of his tunic. Carter ran a finger along a charred wire bundle, then turned to face him.

“See if you can get an outside camera working,” he said. “Let’s see how much of a ship we have left.”

Verdeschi nodded. “Will do, Alan,” he said, sliding forward into a seat. “I…”

“Alan.” Koenig’s voice, from the passenger module.

“Right there, Commander.”

Carter walked through into the pod, stepping over bits of wreckage as he came. He froze as he saw the two comatose figures still strapped to their shock couches.

“Carole?” he whispered.

Koenig glanced at him. “They’ll be all right,” he said. “As far as I can tell, anyway. Concussion. I’ve given them a shot of sedative.”

He studied Carter’s face. “Here,” he said, suddenly. “Give me a hand.”

Carter nodded, advancing to help Koenig clear chunks of smashed machinery from a storage locker.

“Suits?” asked Carter as Koenig pulled aside the cover plate.

Koenig nodded. “I don’t know what’s holding this ship together,” he said, unstrapping the suit packs as he spoke. “But we could crack a seam any minute. The sooner we’re in EVA gear, the better I’ll feel …”

“John? Is that you?”

Koenig turned.

“Helena?” he breathed, relief filling his voice. He sat beside her, taking her hand in his.

“How do you feel?”

“Sore,” she admitted. “In places I didn’t know I’d got.” She frowned. “What about the rest of you?”

“We’re all right,” said Carter, “but Carole …”

Helena unclipped her harness and sat beside the other girl.

“How is she?”

Helena glanced at Carter, suddenly realising that he was as worried about her as she had been about him.

“She’s been shaken up,” she managed, seeing the helplessness on his face.

“But will she be all right?”

She nodded. He heaved an audible sigh of relief. Koenig stood and walked towards the beak, pausing as he passed Carter.

“Stay with her, Alan,” he said. “We’ll take care of the ship. Get her into a suit when she comes round.”

Carter managed a smile.

“Thanks, Commander,” he said. Koening turned, carrying Verdeschi’s suit into the beak with him. He glanced up, locking eyes with Helena.

“Alan, I …”

He shook his head. “All right, Helena,” he said. “I … she just reminded me of someone, that’s all. It’s not her fault she’s here …”

“Meaning it’s yours?” Helena frowned. “Alan, she came because she thought you were hurt. She …”

“She loves me?” he said simply.

Her silence answered his question. Slowly, he nodded.

“Reckon that completes the set, then,” he said quietly.

Helena opened her mouth to speak …

“Mmm Alan?” Carole stirred fitfully. Carter kneeled before her, looking up at her with concern ins his eyes.

“Carole?” he whispered. “Kitten? Can you hear me?”

Her eyes flickered open.

“Alan?”

“Here, Kitten. You hurt?”

She shook her head, frowning. “You … you called me ..?” she began. He took her hand, squeezing it in comfort.

“Called you what?” he said.

“Kitten,” she whispered.

He nodded. “This time I meant it,” he said softly. Carole glanced at Helena who, as if in confirmation, smiled warmly.

“Hey, Commander, Alan, look at this.”

Carter turned at Verdeschi’s voice as, behind him, the pod monitor glimmered into life. A blizzard of interference cleared as, resplendent in orange EVA ear, Koenig strode from the connector tunnel.

Carter frowned at the blurred image.

“That’s 9461,” he said, amazement in his voice.

Koenig nodded. “The failsafe failed operationally,” he said. “It flew the mission for us. We can’t be more than a few hours out.”

“And we’ve an Earth type planet to aim for,” added Verdeschi, jubilantly. 

“Can we manage a landing, John?” said Helena, staring dubiously at the monitor.

Koenig’s jaw set. “We’ll have a damn good try,” he vowed, sealing the gauntlet box to his suit …


	5. Chapter 5

Elnhe frowned as she watched the strange, white light drift across the ebony sky. Stars, she knew, never moved, unless they were shooting stars. But this was moving across the sky, rather than down from it, and it had been visible for far longer than they usually were.

She shook her head. _Perhaps Astra knows what it is. Silly, of **course** he knows. Doesn’t he know everything ..?_

The cool evening breeze plucked at her thin gown. She shivered, pulling its silky softness about here. Something hunting in the forests above the city howled, telling the stars it had made its first kill of the night. She shivered again, less than before from the cold.

She stepped back from the stone balustrade that ringed the balcony, and was about to turn to enter her bedchamber when the merest of sounds stilled her where she stood. 

She glanced out into the night, towards the shadows of the city.

“Who’s there?” she called. “Who is it?”

She took a second pace back from the balcony, her heart racing as her voice rose in volume and pitch.

“Show yourself, or I‘ll call the priests …”

She jumped as a gauntlet slapped the top of the balustrade. Its grip tightened, pulling the armoured figure of a warrior behind it.

“By the stars, Elnhe,” he hissed, “you’re making enough noise to wake the dead …”

Recognising him, she exhaled with a shuddering sigh of relief.

“Ebron,” she gasped. “What are you doing here?”

“I said I’d be back,” he reminded her. “And I told you I’d not let Astra have you.”

Her eyes widened in horror.

“Ebron, no,” she whispered. “You can’t. I … I am promised …”

He pulled his helm from his head, dropping the gauntlets into it.

“You,” he said, crossing the room and checking the catches of thick, wooden door, “are promised to no-one.”

He unfastened his sword belt and, removing a short dagger from its sheath, jammed it into the latch mechanism of the lock.

She stared at him, fear and puzzlement on her face.

“What are you doing?” she said, blankly.

“Making sure we are not disturbed,” he replied, releasing the straps that held his cloak to his shoulders and beginning to unfasten the buckles of his shoulder guards.

“ _We_ are not disturbed ...?” she began.

He paused, glancing at her, then walked towards her. His right hand lifted to stroke her cheek.

“Elnhe,” he said, quietly, “please understand. I have no choice but to do this, because,” he touched her lips, tender and caressing, “because I love you …”

The deep, hollow feeling of realisation nudged coldly at the pit of her stomach.

“Do what ..?” she whispered, knowing his answer even before she spoke.

He exhaled, slowly.

“Save your life, Elnhe,” he said. “Make it impossible for Astra to accept your sacrifice.

He traced the outline of her shoulder through the thin film of material that was her dress, savouring the scent of her body and the warmth of her skin beneath his touch. Silk upon silk, so rare, so beautiful …

He looked into her eyes.

“I can save you, Elnhe.” He glanced away, inhaling suddenly. “If you so desire it …” he added, tenderly.

She uttered a tiny, gasping cry of hope.

“Yes, Ebron, my love,” she sobbed, pulling herself to him, tears of joy burning from her eyes. He swept her into his arms, kissing her lips and face, tasting the tears that she shed for both of them.

He kneeled before her bed, draping her lightly across it, then stood to remove the last of his armour. Her hand was at her shoulder, loosening the clasp that held her dress about her.

“Astra is beaten,” he said, eyes glittering as he reached for her. “It is I, not he, that shall have you …

* * *

Painfully, Carter eased the gauntlet over his injured right hand and locked it to his suit. He formed a fist, testing how much he could move with the injuries he had sustained.

_It’ll do,_ he thought, looking forward into the beak. Verdeschi, clipping his commlock onto the side of his chestpack, entered the pod and aimed what he hoped would pass for a confident smile at him.

“How is she?” Carter asked, reaching for his helmet.

“Helena, Carole, or ‘Thirteen?” asked Verdeschi.

“Helena looks fine and Carole’s in better shape than I am. It’s the ship I don’t know anything about.”

Verdeschi assumed a rueful expression, glancing at Carole, who, enveloped in a suit that was several sizes too big for her, was wearing a modest and silently sheepish ‘I know something you don’t know’ kind of expression.

He shrugged his shoulders.

“You want the hard facts or do I sugar it up a little?”

“That bad, huh?”

Verdeschi nodded. “We still have maneuvering and the forward lift engines,” he said, turning and walking into the beak. Koenig was in the right-hand couch, frowning into a monitor and making notes on his right thigh. Carter scowled at the charred wreck that had once been a row of instrument panels and dropped into the other couch. “The main drive burned itself out getting us here,” continued Verdeschi, kneeling between the two of them and resting his right hand on the top of the monitor casing.

“Can we jettison it?” said Carter, glancing at the readout on his screen.

“According to this, we can, Alan,” replied Koenig, pushing the stylus into the clip beside the notepad.

“The conventional engines?”

“They check out,” said Verdeschi. “The only thing we’re not too sure about are the controls this end.”

Koenig leaned back in his seat.

“As far as I can make out,” he said, tearing the sheet of film from his pad and reading from it, “we have about an hour before we have to make some kind of decision as to whether to stay in orbit or try to make a landing – any kind of landing – on the Earth-type planet in this system. I think I have your total agreement when I say our only chance is for the landing …”

Verdeschi pulled a wry grimace. 

Affirmative on that, Commander,” he said. “Luna’s almost two months behind us. Our consumables wouldn’t last six days, let alone sixty.”

Slowly, Koenig nodded. He glanced behind him towards the pod, conscious that Helena and Carole, indeed all of them, were relying on him to make the decisions to perform the miracles that would give them at least a fighting chance of survival.

He ran a hand over the stubble on his chin, looking back towards Carter.

“Helena asked me if we could set this ship down,” he said, calmly. “Can we?”

Something twitched the corner of Carter’s mouth.

“Just give me the word, Commander,” he replied, a determined glint in his eye. “I’ll put her down it it’s the last thing I do.”

A wide grin lit Koenig’s face.

“Okay, Tony,” he said, tightening his shock harness. “Strap in and warn the girls. We’re going down …”

* * *

“Kemargian! Kemargian!”

The guard stood forward, drawing his sword as the white-robed handmaiden ran from the shadow of the corridor.

“Stand, woman,” he warned, waving her back with his free hand.

“I wish to see the High Priest,” she gasped, breathlessly.

“For what reason?” he replied, looking past her for any signs of anyone in pursuit.

“The girl …” she began.

There was a clatter of bolts being withdrawn and the heavy and richly decorated door behind the guard groaned open.

“What’s all this noise, trooper?” snapped a voice.

The guard clicked to attention as Kemargian, right hand closing the clasp of his cloak, strode from his quarters.

“The girl,” repeated the woman, insistently.

Kemargian frowned.

“Which girl?” he said, placing his hands on his hips. 

“The sac …” she began, glancing nervously at the guard. “The offering to Astra,” she corrected.

Kemargian’s expression flickered. He stood forward, his gauntlets closing over the handmaiden’s shoulders with a grip of iron.

“What about the girl?” he hissed.

“I heard her call out to someone,” she said, eyes wide with fear. “ Then later, from her room, I heard a man’s voice …”

Kemargian released her as if he’d been stung. He rounded on the guard, issuing orders in a harsh, clipped tongue.

“Alert Evestregen and Yrtourbogen. Have them meet me in the Solstice Chamber.”

He stepped back into the room behind him, to re-emerge with a helm and swordbelt in his hands.

“Duty guards to the Hall of Astra,” he added, pushing the helm onto his head and clipping the swordbelt to his armor.

The guard stiffened with a stylised salute, then spun on one polished heel to pad lightly along the corridor. Kemargian turned to march along the other sweep of the corridor, the petrified woman in his wake.

“This man’s voice?” he said, over one shoulder. “Did you recognise it?”

The corridor opened into a stairwell. Kemargian turned towards the ascending flight as she answered.

“I … I think it was one of the lieutenants in the temple guard,” she stammered. “She called him Ebron …"

Kemargian’s eyes narrowed.

“Yes,” he murmured. “I should have known …”

“Kemargian!”

He paused, one foot on the lowermost tread of the flight of stairs. Looking back along the corridor, he could see a pair of cowled, shadowy figures.

“Evestregen,” he nodded, as the priest halted before him. His bodyguard, sword drawn, stood mutely a few paces behind him.

“What’s all this about, Kemargian?” he said, pulling his gauntlet tighter on his right hand. “The Temple’s alive with soldiers.”

Kemargian nodded at the woman.

“The handmaiden heard voices in Elnhe’s rooms,” he replied, turning and ascending the steps. “It’s that lovestruck fool Ebron again.”

“Ebron? He is with her?”

“Evidently,” muttered Kemargian, darkly. Evestregen scowled.

“How long has he been with her?” he said, drawing his sword.

“How long does it take?” replied Kemargian, taking the top three steps in one stride and turning along the dim, tapestry-hung corridor.

His boots skidded to a halt before a door that would have done a bank vault proud. Behind them, a squad of troopers pattered briskly up the stairs.

Evestregen placed a massive hand on the door latch. He pushed, but the panel remained stubbornly in its frame. He nodded to his bodyguard.

“Trooper,” he said, simply.

The soldier squared up to the door, studying it for the briefest of moments. Suddenly, he darted forward, his should impacting squarely with the great balk of wood. There was a sudden splintering sound, followed by the chink of breaking metal. With a faint squeak of protest from the hinges, the door vibrated open.

In a moment, the guard, sword drawn, was in the room, kneeling just inside the door in a defensive crouch. Kemargian slithered to a halt beside him.

Across the room, a cry of alarm on her lips, Elnhe was sitting upright in her bed, the bedclothes clutched to her throat. Ebron, as naked as she, rolled from her side, clawing desperately for the pile of armour beside her bed. His hand closed over the hilt of his sword. Kicking upright, he shook the scabbard from the blade, standing to attempt to put himself between the priests and the girl whose bed he had just shared.

“The balcony, Elnhe,” he called. “Don’t let them take you …”

There was a whistling sound, and a glittering sliver of steel hissed past Kemargian’s helm. With a grunt of surprise and pain, Ebron stared in horror at the dagger hilt that had suddenly grown from his forearm. Dropping his sword, and clutching at the wound with his free hand, he fell to one knee as, eyes wide with shocked terror, Elnhe watched helplessly as the blood began to ooze between his fingers.

Evestregen, whose knife it was had plunged into Ebron’s sword arm, walked past the frowning Kemargian with slow, confident steps. He paused before Ebron, his scowl mirroring the younger man’s defiance.

“Did you touch her?” he growled, in a voice thick with rage.

“There was not time, oh Evestregen,” wailed the handmaiden.

“Silence, woman,” snapped the priest. He pointed to the cowed and tearful girl on the bed.

“Did you touch her?” he repeated, hate dripping from every syllable.

Ebron tightened his grip on the wound in his arm in an effort to staunch the flow of blood. He glanced from Evestregen to Elnhe, then up into the face of the priest, his lips sealed and his eyes bright with determination.

“Guard,” called Evestregen, suddenly. “Hold the girl. I shall see for myself …”

“No!” yelled Ebron, looking back to Elnhe. “There is no need. I …” He inhaled, deeply. “We shared each other’s bodies, priest. Elnhe is mine. Astra cannot take her now …”

Evestragen formed a fist with his right hand, smashing it into the side of the wounded man’s head. Ebron went down with a sickening clatter.

“Stop!” sobbed Elnhe, dragging herself from the bed to kneel by his side. Ebron took the sheet from her and pressed it into the wound.

“I’m not finished with you, yet, female,” warned the priest, towering above them. “Guard …”

“Evestregen!”

Kemargian walked forward to stand by his colleague’s side. He studied the wretched pair on the floor, the hate in his eyes supplanted by a deeper expression.

“What is done, is done,” he said, looking into the tear stained face of Elnhe. “The next solstice is twelve days away. We have until then to find and prepare another girl.”

“But the others …” began Evestragen, frowning.

“I know,” the high priest replied. “We cannot use them. They will be needed for the great solstice beyond that. We must have a new girl. Whether she is willing or not, we have no choice. Astra will understand.”

Evestragen jabbed his sword at the two unfortunate lovers. 

“What about these two?” he said. “The people must see they are punished for their blasphemy.”

Kemargian glanced at Ebron, then again to Elnhe. For a tiny, precious moment, Dalny, eyes sparkling, smiled back at him. His expression froze as her memory tore through his heart.

“Make an announcement to the people,” he said, his voice suddenly harsh and unforgiving. “The ceremony of atonement will be performed at day-break tomorrow. Let Astra see justice be done …”

* * *

“… TacNav disconnect check. Engine arm over-ride off. Preheaters on, intercoolers on. Electrics check and circuit breakers in.”

Carter through the last, red-topped switch and leaned back in his couch. He looked towards Koenig.

“That’s it, Commander,” he said. “I’ve checked all I can without dismantling the panels. She’s in poor shape, but she’s still flying.”

Koenig nodded. “How’s our orbit?”

Carter glanced into the monitor between them.

“Stable,” he said, simply. “Tony’s navigation plot took us right down the line into orbital insertion.” He gave a rueful smile. “Smoothest flight I was ever on, and I was unconscious for most of it.”

“Okay, Alan,” replied Koenig. “Close up. I’ll warn the others.”

He touched the commlock on the side of his chestpack as Carter unshipped his helm from the hold-down plate behind his couch.

“Commander?”

Verdeschi’s voice, distorted by the commlock’s tiny loudspeaker, sounded across the cabin.

“Helmets on and check your harness, Tony,” said Koenig, reaching for his helm. “We’re going to try for re-entry.”

“Okay, Commander.”

There was a pause as he warned the others, then: “Hey, Alan?”

“Yeah, Tony?”

“Make it a good landing, you hear? We got a fragile payload this trip, including me.”

Carter glanced at the commlock. “You just take care of Helena and Carole for the Commander and me,” he replied. “Let me worry about the landing.”

He looked up into Koenig’s face.

“Okay, Commander?”

Koenig nodded. “Any time you’re ready, Alan.”

Carter reached up and closed his visor, mating the seals with a snap. A red warning light glowed briefly beside his cheek, then dimmed as the locks engaged. The soft hum of the consoles gave way to the sibilant hiss of his suit conditioner and the rumble of his breath in the communicator. He aimed one, last glance at the orbital timeline on his monitor, then reached for the control panel on his left.

“Booster adaptor umbilicals,” he said, suddenly conscious of the rise in his heart rate.

“Closed,” replied Koenig, voice as calm as ever.

“Guillotine pyros armed.”

“Check.”

“Swaybrace and holdback master pyros armed.”

“Check.”

Carter scanned his event boards for red lights, his ears pricked for the piping cry of an alarm. Looking down, he suddenly realised that, in the tension, he had involuntarily formed a fist with his right hand. With not a little degree of conscious effort, he relaxed the hand, determined to foster a feeling of calm about himself.

He exhaled slowly, hearing the comforting whisper of his own breath in his earphones.

“Ullage motors armed,” he said, watching as a red light shone, then winked out, to be replaced by a splash of green.

_It’s working,_ he thought, _after all the punishment she’s taken, ‘Thirteen’s still under control._

“Separation count in ten on my mark,” he said, voice stronger as his faith in his battered ship began to be restored.

“Mark! Nine, eight, seven, circuit live and green, four, three, two …”

His right hand threw a switch. A salvo of impacts thudded through the Eagle as the booster pack parted company with the rest of the ship.

“There it goes,” said Koenig, nodding at the image relayed by the tail camera to the monitors. The booster wallowed away from them, slowly tumbling clear. He closed a row of switches and turned to look at Carter.

“She’s all yours, Captain.”

“Thanks, Commander,” he replied, left hand closing carefully over the attitude yoke. Slowly, almost reverently, his right hand lowered to the throttle quadrant.

“Come on, old girl,” he said softly. “One last effort …”

The friction stop released with a click, and he eased the throttles to five percent. His hand lifted to the console, tapping the four igniters simultaneously. As they tripped, the lift engines spoke, pulsing a healthy kick through the base of his spine. With an almost hypnotic grace, ‘Thirteen tilted back, her forward momentum dying with each passing second.

His hand was back on the throttles, nursing them forward, coaxing every last gramme of thrust from the much-abused systems. 

A sudden, and very unfamiliar vibration thudded through ‘Thirteen’s main frames. He retarded the throttles, listening and feeling, every nerve in his body keyed to sense the trouble that had hit his ship.

“What is it?” called Koenig, frowning at a maddeningly unresponsive readout consoles.

“Dunno,” muttered Carter, correcting a sideslip with a flick of the attitude yoke. “Sounds almost like …”

There was a massive, reverberating impact, followed by the screams of tearing metal. The Eagle slewed sideways, her port side rolling out beneath her. Carter wrenched the yoke over, feeling the starboard reactors fire.

“What the hell ..?” he began, seeking out the golfball attitude display on his console.

“Commander, she’s not responding,” he said. As a forest of red lights appeared on the event board beside him. “Port thrusters are out …”

“We’ve lost a side sponson,” reported Koenig. “Port aft …”

“What about the pod?”

Koenig shook his head. “Don’t know,” he said. “I’ve lost telemetry from the rest of the ship …”

The gauge served by a skin thermocouple flickered off its scale as the hull began to heat in the flames of re-entry.

“Atmosphere,” said Carter. “No going back now …”

The Eagle was still trying to roll onto her back, pulled by the drag caused by the remaining aft pod on her starboard side. Carter encouraged a half-roll, then corrected, jamming the attitude yoke hard over and into his right thigh. More vibrations rocked the ship and, in his mind’s eye, he could see chunks of hot metal and blazing plastic shedding in her wake.

The longest ninety seconds of his life ticked into his past, any moment carrying the threat that the ship would complete her roll and allow the lighter insulation to boil from her upper surfaces in the howling fireball of re-entry. With a final, reluctant lurch, ‘Thirteen emerged from her mantle of flame and shuddered into a shallow dive.

Carter blinked the perspiration from his eyes and endeavoured to trim out the battered craft, exploring with the skill of a surgeon what little remained of her flight envelope. 

“We’re still flying,” he said, tersely. “Just.”

Something shaking loose in the slipstream was tugging at the attitude yoke, suddenly sluggish and unresponsive in his hands. The image on the monitor crazed, then rolled into a sunlit view of the surface of the planet. A surface that was rushing towards them faster than either of the two men were prepared to tolerate.

Carter looked up at Koenig.

“Commander,” he began, “can you ..?”

He paused as he saw that Koenig was having troubles of his own.

“What is it?” he called, above the rattles and thumps that sounded even through his helm insulation.

“I’ve lost the pod,” said Koenig, sharply. “Telemetry, pressure continuity, lock status, the lot …”

“Carole …” began Carter, his mouth working silently as he struggled to cope with the implications of Koenig’s revelations. 

He finally managed to speak.

“Anything on your commlock?”

Koenig’s thickly gloved fingers fumbled at the controls of the little grey box.

“Don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “Alan, if that pod breached …” His voice stilled. There was no need to finish the comment.

Carter’s jaw set.

“Give me a minute and we’ll be down, Commander.” If ‘Thirteen doesn’t fall apart first, was his unvoiced thought.

He reached for the lift engine igniters once more, willing them to work. They did, the G forces pulling him into his seat as the engines fired, bullying the stricken craft to behave. 

“I think we’ve made it …” he began, eying the welcoming sweep of forest that carpeted the ground beneath them.

“Terminator coming up,” noted Koenig as, behind ‘Thirteen’s scarred and smoke-blackened tail, the sun neared the horizon as they outran the dawn.

“Come on, old girl,” urged Carter. “Another thirty seconds and we’re down …”

Something shuddered through the length of the ship. There was a slap of plating peeling free and striking framework, and, with an anti-climatic whumph the nose lift engines died.

“Flameout!” called Carter, dumping the throttles and jabbing desperately at the igniters as the nose dropped.

“I have control!” yelled Koenig, as Carter released the attitude yoke and attacked his circuit panel.

“No good, Commander,” he said. “She’s dead. We’ve lost her. She’s breaking up. She’s breaking …”

The single footpad on her port side clipped a treetop, tipping ‘Thirteen forward and down. The engine bells and pod footpads scythed into the foliage, churning greenery and splintered wood about her as she carved her own swathe of destruction.

Battered by a rapid and violent succession of impacts that hammered though the wrecking ship, Carter, arms wrapped protectively round his head, looked forward out of the small, triangular windows of the beak.

Seconds before he passed out, he saw the golden flash of sunlight as the Eagle rolled onto her back, then the green darkness of the forest floor as ‘Thirteen plunged to her final resting place …


	6. Chapter 6

An open gauntlet in the small of his back pushed Ebron roughly into the cage. He hammered into the bars at its other side and collapsed with a pained grunt on a heap of stale-smelling straw.

The guard stood back, lifting his sword to anticipate any retaliation the injured man might make. His awareness was to go unrewarded, Ebron merely rolling stiffly onto his back.

“Do you wish the girl in a separate cell, sir?”

“No, sergeant,” replied Evestregen, glaring at Ebron from the doorway, his arms folded impatiently. He nodded at Elnhe, shivering beneath the thin gown she had hurriedly draped about herself, a wretched figure beside her attendant guard.

“Put her in with her defiler,” added the priest. “Let them share their thoughts before the ceremony tomorrow.” He aimed a significant look at the senior trooper.

“It will soon be light,” he said. “They shall not have long to wait.”

With that he turned and, ducking his helm beneath the low lintel of the cellblock door, padded from the room. A curt nod from the sergeant, and Elnhe’s guard pushed her into the cell. The cage door slammed and the locking lever engaged. Three pairs of boots clicked from the chamber, the outer door hammered shut, and Elnhe was alone, the echoes and the wounded man at her feet her only company.

“Elnhe?”

She turned away from him, her eyelids closed as the tears burned beneath them. She curled into a cold, damp corner, her slight frame wracked with the sobbing that tore from her soul.

“Elnhe …” Ebron tried to sit up, weakened by loss of blood. His right arm folded against his chest, he propped himself up on the other forearm and dragged himself towards her.

“Elnhe, please …” he began.

“Leave me alone!” she snapped. “Haven’t you done enough?”

A look of helplessness flooded his face.

“Elnhe, I … I don’t understand. I thought …”

“Thought?” She turned a pair of eyes, reddened from crying, towards him. “You thought?” she sniffed, wiping a curl of hair from her forehead with the back of her hand. “That’s all you’re good for, thinking. You should have left it at that.”

She turned her back on him, facing the wall, oblivious of the grime that stained her cheek.

Ebron shook his head, his face a mask of puzzlement.

“Elnhe.” His fingertips touched her back, caressing, comforting. She drew away, standing and retreating to the opposite corner of the cell.

His eyes followed her.

“Elnhe,” he pleaded. “What is it? Please, tell me …”

She stood with her back to him, leaning dejectedly against the dank, mould-encrusted stonework. “Leave me alone,” she said. “Astra doesn’t want me. Nobody will want me, now.”

He slithered round against the bars of the cell, pushing himself giddily to his feet.

“Elnhe,” he said, “I want you. I need you. What happened changed nothing but increases my love for you.” He took an unsteady pace towards her.

“I love you,” he repeated. “More than ever before …”

She spun, her eyes swirling angrily.

“Will you still love me after the ceremony?” she challenged. “After the priests have finished with their knives and irons?” She pulled the dress tightly about her, the tears returning to her eyes.

“I saw it once,” she said. “Many years ago. A daughter of Astra gave her body to a man, and the priests dealt with them in the sight of Astra.” Her eyes widened in horror, her voice lifting as the terrible memories returned. “Do you know what they did?” she called. Ebron looked from her to the floor, a tortured frown on his face. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Before the entire city, they blinded them, then destroyed them, slowly, painfully. Destroyed her beauty, then his …”

“Yes, Elnhe,” snapped Ebron, looking up at her again. “I saw it, too.”

“But they didn’t kill them,” she returned, “just banished them to a lifetime of suffering …”

He inhaled, then sighed, tiredly.

“I tried, Elnhe,” he said, shaking his head. “My love, I did what I thought was right …”

Her mouth worked silently for a moment. He started forward again, his foot catching in a loop of straw. With a surprised gasp, he tripped, falling in an untidy heap at her feet.

“Ebron!” she cried, kneeling by his side and turning him onto his back. He winced as he pulled his arm from beneath him.

“I tried,” he repeated, softly. “Believe me …”

She took his hand to examine to cut, wiping the fresh smears of blood from it with the hem of her gown. Their eyes met, their minds sharing the truth in an instant.

“Ebron …” she whispered.

His left arm reached for her shoulders.

“I love you,” he said, simply, unnecessarily. “I wanted to help you. I tried to save you …”

“You did, Ebron,” she avowed. “For the first time I feel whole, complete. For a few short hours I shall be truly alive.”

She leaned forward and kissed him.

“I’m sorry,” he said as their lips parted. “It nearly worked. I was so close to giving you back your life …”

“I have my life,” she said, feeling the touch of his fingers on her back, listening to the beat of his heart in his chest. “A girl shared your bed this night,” she breathed. “But a woman shall walk out before the priests at dawn tomorrow.”

“Elnhe..?”

“Yes, my love?”

“Tonight, what I did was my duty. To save you. To try to save you,” he corrected.

Her head lifted from his chest, a puzzled frown on her face. “Duty?” she asked.

He nodded.

“But,” he said, “if you wish …”

The movement of her eyebrows revealed her awareness of his train of though.

“Again?” she said, simply.

“Purely out of love, Elnhe.”

She smiled, a warm, sincere smile.

“Out of love,” she repeated, pulling the gown from her shoulders.

The memory of his injuries banished to the depths of his mind, he reached towards her, his fingertips tracing the exquisite contours of her shoulders, her throat, her breasts …

With an abrupt clatter, the outer door was wrenched open, flooding the end of the corridor with a pool of golden torchlight.

“Too late, blasphemers,” growled the trooper, advancing on the cage to unfasten its locks. “Astra is almost here. And,” he added ominously, “the priests are ready.” 

He entered the cage, one hand reaching to pull Elnhe from him. Ebron kicked across the floor of the cell, driving into the man’s legs. The guard hit the wall, a surprised cry on his lips as his helm rattled down the rough stone surface.

Ebron turned to face a second guard, feeling the blood begin to flow from his cut again. A sword hissed from its scabbard. He froze as he felt the prick of its tip against his throat.

Shaking his head, the guard Ebron had felled got awkwardly to his feet. He looked into the prisoner’s face, undisguised murder in his eyes.

“You’ll pay for that,” he warned, in a voice hoarse with anger. “After the priests have finished with you I’ll make sure you’re returned to me. And I promise you, you’ll wish you had died at their hands before I’ve had my sport with you.”

Ebron gave a disdainful sniff, making great show if ignoring the soldier to examine his wounds.

“Get them out of here,” called the trooper. “Let the priests deal with them.”

Elnhe took Ebron’s uninjured arm and. Draping it across her shoulders, assisted him from the cage and to the outer door. Beyond it, a flight of greasy steps led up to a stark, bare-walled chamber. Its only door led to the open air, and the cold, grey dawn that awaited them.

Ebron paused just over the threshold. Before him was the great city square, its edges painted with a sea of anonymous faces, their features watery and indistinct in the cold light of the false dawn. Across the square could be seen the two flame pyramids and, beyond them, the great sacrificial pyramid, lying like some sleeping gargantuan awaiting its latest victims.

Ebron felt an icy terror trickle down his back. Backlit by the half-light in the sky, the three constructs possessed a presence of their own, almost as if they were part of the consciousness of Astra.

But Astra is nothing more than a predictable call of light in the sky. As predictable as the other, smaller points of fire that whirl about the city. 

Elnhe shivered, clinging tightly to his side. He glanced at her, concern in his eyes.

“Cold?”

She shook her head.

“Frightened,” she confessed. “I was prepared to die for Astra, but now …”

A swordpoint jabbed through the back of his tunic, urging him forward. He risked a glance at the row of troopers behind him. If only he had his sword …

“Courage, Elnhe,” he whispered. “There is still hope …”

“Move, defiler,” taunted the guard, his sword cutting Ebron’s skin. With an effort, he caught himself before he fell. He straightened, feeling the rivulet of blood begin to drain down his back and stain his shirt.

Evestregen was waiting for them at the foot of the steps of the great pyramid. Ebron paused before him.

“You have lost, priest,” he said. “Astra will not have her. She’ll not be wasted on these pointless, brutal …”

Evestragen’s right gauntlet clenched, the fist smashing into the side of Ebron’s jaw.

“Hold her,” he commanded, as Elnhe made to go to his side. The trooper’s hand wrapped round her wrist, dragging her back. Ebron sprawled painfully across the lowermost steps as Evestragen stood over him.

“Get up,” he spat. “Destroyer of all that is good and righteous.”

Ebron felt with his tongue for broken teeth, then licked the smear of blood that oozed from a cut lip. He shot a glare at Evestregen, then turned to watch Elnhe as she writhed in the trooper’s grasp.

“Leave her alone,” he said coldly. “Hasn’t she suffered enough?”

“That’s nothing compared to what she will suffer, blasphemer …” began the priest.

“Evestregen.” The helm tilted, to contemplate the patiently waiting figure on the tower.

“Time grows short.”

“Agreed, Yrtourbogen,” he acknowledged. A pair of ice-cold eyes turned to Ebron.

“On your feet,” he ordered. “The sooner we deal with you the better I shall feel.”

“Elnhe …” said Ebron.

“Release her,” mutterered Evestregen. “Let her to him.”

With a disdainful sneer on his face, the soldier opened his fist. Elnhe sagged free and knelt to help Ebron to his feet.

“Move. Up the tower.”

As they neared its summit, Kemargien, Yrtourbogen at his side, had begun his speech to the awed and frightened crowd.

“ …these two shameless creatures. No longer worthy of the name human. They have chosen to strike the very soul of Astra himself.” He swung a gold trimmed arm in an imperial sweep before him.

“Note well what you see today, my children,” he called. “Let their punishment be a warning, both to you, and to your children after you.”

Ebron’s guard led him to a pillar set into a deep slot in the top of the pyramid. At neck height, a bronze ring, set with leather straps, shone dully in the first coral fingers of dawn. He glanced sideways, to see Elnhe being tied to her pillar. Looking down, he could see an iron stand, a pile of glowing coals into which had been thrust an assortment of steel spikes, hissing threateningly from the shallow tray on its top.

His body tensed as a gauntlet on his chest pushed him against the pillar. The inevitable sword-point bit into the skin under his chin.

“Don’t even think about it, “warned the trooper. “One move out of place and I pin your tongue to the roof of your mouth.”

The thong tightened around his throat. A guard either side of him held his arms.

A yell of pain and alarm sounded beside him.

“Elnhe!” he called, twisting to see Kemargian tear Elnhe’s gown from her. Her naked body writhed helplessly as, dropping the gown onto the top of the altar, the priest hefted a white-hot rod of metal and turned to face her.

Evestregen’s gauntlet cupped Ebron’s chin, turning his head towards Elnhe. “Look at her,” he hissed. “See what your blasphemy has done.”

Kemargian turned, facing the eastern horizon. The first scarlet rays of light were beginning to scour the undersides of the clouds.

“Come, Astra,” called Kemargian. “Witness the justice of your humble servants …”

“Kemargian …”

Yrtourbogen walked past Elnhe’s sacrificial pillar to stand beside his superior.

“In Astra’s name …” began Kemargian, turning a horrified glance at the other priest.

“Listen,” returned Yrtourbogen, pointing towards the gilded treeline. “Something … a strange sound …”

Kemargian shook his head. “Too late,” he said. “Astra is come …”

“But I …

Flame gouged a gasp between the treetops as Astra shook off the night. Ebron instinctively closed his eyes as Elnhe gave a tiny squeak of terror beside him. Glowing the colour of arterial blood in the ethereal mantle of light, Kemargian turned once more to face Elnhe, the still red-hot iron lifting to her chest.

Ebron struggled in the grip of his captors, feeling the bite of the leather thong at his throat.

“No,” he began. “Not her, Not …”

“Kemargian, look!”

Yrtourbogen was pointing towards the rising sun, terror shining in the eyes behind his faceplate.

“The sound, Kemargian, the sound …”

Ebron could hear it now. A high-pitched whistle, the scream of a beast from hell.

Kemargian spun, the iron falling from his hand.

“No,” he gasped. “Astra! Look at Astra!”

Ebron fel the hands at his wrists fall away. He looked up, wincing in the blinding sunlight. As his gaze swept across the ball of fire on the horizon, a black speck spun across its centre. It touched the treetops then, in a gout of flame that dimmed even the mighty Astra, twisted lazily towards them, shedding chunks of smoking, burning material as it came.

“Astra’s judgement!" screamed a guard, in blind terror, turning to run from the top of the tower. Realising he was, for the moment, free of captors, Ebron pulled at the knots that bound him.

“Kemargian, what ..?” called Yrtourbogen, helplessly.

Paralysed with shock, the high priest could only stare at the terrible black shape as it plummeted towards the pyramid. Ebron dropped to his knees as the knots untied beneath his fevered fingertips.

“Elnhe!" he yelled, pushing a guard into the brazier, ignoring his screams of alarm as his armour blazed. A concussion shook the tower as something churned into the roof of the temple beyond it, the crash of the impact drowning the yells of the panic-stricken populace, who, fearing the wrath of their suddenly all-powerful god, were streaming in helpless confusion about the square.

Chips of stone began to shutter down as Ebron freed the hysterically screaming Elnhe. A pall of greasy smoke drifted about them, smothering the suddenly insignificant light from the sun as it lumbered into the sky.

Sweeping her into his arms, Ebron ran drunkenly over the lip of the tower, the adrenaline that pumped through his body performing the miracle that kept him upright.

Evestragen, his hand before his eyes to shield them from the electric-white flame that burned about the blackened, vaguely egg-shaped thing that had crushed the roof of their temple, called to Kemargien.

“By Astra’s light, what is it?”

Kemargien shook his head.

“I … I do not know …”

He looked up, reassuring himself that Astra – the Astra he knew – was still where it should be. I was, but the fact did little to restore his confidence in the sanctity of his faith.

“The sacrifices …” said Evestregen, suddenly.

“Leave them,” snapped Kemargien. “This is more important.”

Yrtourbogen limped forward, one arm held stiffly at his side, his clothing and armour still smouldering where the hot ash scattered by the dying guard had hit it.

“Kemargien,” he hissed. “Is it of Astra?”

Abruptly, he nodded.

“Yes,” he said hoarsely. “It can be nothing else.”

Silently, the three men looked towards the burned grey hulk that had fallen from the sky.

The command beak of Eagle Thirteen …

* * *

Verdeschi awoke to the sound of escaping vapour in his ears and the acrid stink of burning circuitry in his nostrils. Something warm and moist was matting his hair above his right ear, and his shirt clung with a tacky sensation to his chest.

He blinked his eyes open, the blood clearing in a pink mist. Something glinted before him. Frowning, he fought to focus his eyes. Whatever it was, it was unusually close …

“Jesus Christ!”

He jerked his head back against the padding of his helm as he realised what the object was. A sheared, razor-sharp chunk of I-section beam, ripped from some unknown piece of structure and thrust through the transparency of his visor, stopping scant millimetres from his face.

“Man, that was close,” he whispered, reaching up with gauntleted hands to push the beam away from him. It grated from the puncture in the faceplate, pulling bits of plexiglass from the surround onto his chestpack.

He cracked the seal and lifted the helm from his head, sniffing suspiciously at the atmosphere in the pod.

“Bitter almonds,” he muttered. “Cyanide. Something’s on fire …”

Looking about him, he unshipped his harness and made to stand. The floor, canted at a crazy angle, slithered away from beneath his feet. He collided with a heap of wreckage, which shifted and clattered to the rear of the pod. Beneath it had been a spacesuit, the arms still clasped protectively about the helm in a last, desperate attempt at survival.

Verdeschi stood and began to unfasten the unconscious figure’s harness. A hand moved, pushing instinctively at him.

“Hold it,” he called. It’s all right. It’s me, Tony.”

His fingers found the visor lock and lifted the faceplate onto the top of the helm.

Helena Russell, bruises beginning to show around both eyes, dried stains of blood from nose and mouth, managed a weak smile at him.

“We landed yet?” she croaked.

“I sure hope so, he replied, dropping his gauntlets and unfastening his chestpack.

“What happened to Carole?”

Shocked concern sprang to his face as realisation clutched icy fingers to his heart.

“My god,” he whispered. “I forgot …”

He climbed over the back of the couch, heading for where he remembered her seat to be.

“Carole?” he called, staring helplessly at the pile of debris that had been swept into the corner of the pod.

The vision of that I-beam burned in his mind. Both he and Helena had been luckier than they had deserved …

“Helena,” he said suddenly. “Give me a hand …”

Carefully, almost with a lover’s touch, he began lifting bits of broken instrumentation from the junk that spilled across the aft end of the cabin. 

“Suit,” called Helena, pointing. Verdeschi looked along her outstretched finger. A battered chestpack glowed whitely from beneath a smouldering circuit tray.

He coughed the irritating vapour from his lungs.

“Stay back, Helena, “ he warned. “This stuff’s poisonous …”

The metal was hot, searing his fingers. With a gasp of pain, he pulled it free, oblivious to the sharp and torn edges that cut his fingers.

“Carole?”

There was blood on the inside of the faceplate.

“I’ll get the medical kit,” promised Helena as, cursing their misfortune, he struggled with the jammed seal of the injured girl’s visor.

Verdeschi breathed a silent prayer of thanks as, with a brief hiss, the helm seal deflated and the neck ring came free.

“Remove a gauntlet,” said Helena, as he lifted the helm from her head, giving an involuntary wince as she saw the battered features of the unfortunate nurse. Mutely, Verdeschi did so, dropping the gauntlet into the helm and letting it slide into the debris -trewn rear of the pod.

A hypo fired with a tired sigh.

“How is she?”

Helena frowned, shaking her head. “Too soon to say,” she said, lifting an eyelid to examine the pupil beneath. She nodded at the clutter about the lower half of the girl’s body.

“Can we shift the rest of this?” she asked.

Verdeschi glanced into Carole’s unconscious face, then nodded.

“Sure, Helena,” he said. “I’ll have to get some tools.”

He stood and climbed forward, seeking hand and footholds in the junk about him.

“Wonder how Alan and the Commander are,” he said, leaning against a locker in the forward access tunnel. “They must be still unconscious …”

He glanced at Helena, both of them completing the thought together.

Unconscious, or dead.

He turned and thumbed a control. The door panel remained stubbornly shut.

“Motors are out,” he said. “I’ll have to crank it open …”

“Tony.”

He glanced back towards her.

“What is it?”

“There’s something across her legs. I can’t move it.”

He climbed back down to her, frowning at the space-frame that pinned Carole to her couch. He slipped his fingers beneath it and heaved upward. There was a promising creaking noise, then nothing.

“Can you cut it?” suggested Helena.

Verdeschi shrugged his shoulders. “Dunno,” he said. “Depends if we still have any juice in the batteries to power the toolkits …”

Carole coughed, suddenly leaning forward as she regained consciousness.

“Hold it, sit still,” commanded Helena, pushing her back against the headrest. A pair of bleary, tear-stained eyes peered back at her.

“M … my legs …” she whispered.

“You’ve got a piece of metal across them,” soothed Helena. “We’ll soon have you out.” She glanced at Verdeschi, sharing his relief at seeing her alive. “Don’t think they’re broken,” she added. “Stay there. We’ll get you out.”

“Alan ..?”

Helena shook her head. “We don’t know,” she said. “The beak door has jammed …”

“I must know. Please, I must know if he’s all right.”

Helena looked up to Verdeschi and nodded.

“She’ll be okay for a while,” she said. “Check the others. They could be hurt.”

He clambered back to his precarious perch beneath the hatch. Opening a locker, he removed a cranked handle and inserted it into a slot in the bottom of the door frame.

He leaned his weight against the lever, fighting the gear trains that jammed the panel. The lever gave with a crack, then began turning easily. The door inched open. An unfamiliar yellow light shone about the base of the frame.

“Oh, my God.”

Helena looked up at his words.

“What is it, Tony?”

“The beak’s gone.”

Carole’s eyes widened with horror.

“Alan ..?” she called.

“What happened, Tony?”

He dropped the crank and lifted himself over the lip of the opening. 

“Shearbolts have fired. Looks as if the MBs have, too.”

Helena shook her head in incomprehension. 

“MBs?” she said.

Verdeschi dropped back into the access tunnel.

“Technical slang. Martin-Bakers. They’re little solid-fuel rockets that fire in an emergency and blast the beak from the rest of the ship …”

“Alan …” said Carole, tears welling in her eyes. “Helena, he’s dead, I just know he is …”

She twisted in her couch, wrapping her arms about her head as she wept, overtaken by the grief she had vowed to hold within her.

“Carole …” began Helena.

“He’s dead,” she sobbed. “And I’m never going to see him again, and …” She shook her head, looking out at the patch of blue sky beyond the open doorway.

“Alan, oh Alan, I … I love you. I didn’t want you to die … I didn’t …”

Verdeschi slithered from the tunnel to her side.

“Carole,” he said softly. “You don’t know. He … It’s possible the pod landed intact. It’s a survival shell. It’s designed …”

His voice tailed into silence as he realised it was having no effect. Helena looked towards her medical box, then turned, another hypo in her hand. It fired into Carole’s wrist, her grief so absolute that she didn’t even notice it.

“Sedative,” said Helena, in answer to Verdeschi’s questioning eyebrow. “Best thing for her now is sleep.”

“I meant what I said about the beak,” affirmed Verdeschi.

Helena nodded. I know, Tony,” she replied. “But we’ve got to be realistic, for her sake.”

He studied her closely.

“Only for her sake?” he said.

Helena looked down at the spent hypo in her hand. She shook her head.

“No, Tony,” she said. “Not only for her. I know John was aboard that beak.” She swallowed painfully. “But if he s dead, all the grieving in the galaxy won’t bring him back.”

She glanced at the rectangle of blue beyond the hatch.

“Come on, Tony,” she said. “There’ll be time to weep after we’ve got out of here and onto solid ground …" 


	7. Chapter 7

Consciousness returned with a variety of sensations, most of them unpleasant. Koenig’s left eye flickered open, a blaze of yellow, visor filtered light blinding him as he tried vainly to focus on the lamp panel above the console.

Something was dragging him sideways against the armrest to his right, and pain numbed that arm and shoulder. He forced both eyes open, wincing at the unbearable brightness of the lights before him.

He cleared his throat, tasting the sourness of the stale blood that ringed his lips.

“Alan,” he croaked, lifting his left arm to reach for his helm seals. His voice vibrated dully in his helm, telling him the communications circuits were dead. He’d have to remove the helmet to talk to his co-pilot.

If he wasn’t already dead.

For some reason not entirely apparent to him, Koenig found that he was unable to move his right arm, a dull, throbbing ache preventing the nerve impulses from what little remained of his consciousness that remained faithful to him reaching the musculature in question. He gave up trying, pressing home his attack on the stubborn helm seals with his left hand.

He heaved a heartfelt sigh of relief as, with an abrupt hiss, the helm split from the flexible collar. He pushed it from his head, ignoring it as it fell sideways into the mangled remains of the control panel beside him.

“Alan?” he repeated, looking to his left.

His heart froze as he saw the other suit, crumpled lifelessly over the control panel. The right gauntlet box had shattered, bare skin visible through the jagged crack in the casing. A rivulet of blood had found its way through the break, to drain along the thumb of the glove. Every few seconds, a large blob of liquid detached from the thumb tip to land with a tacky pattering onto the face of the video monitor.

“Alan!” yelled Koenig, tearing at the harness catches and pushing himself out of his seat. His right arm shifted as he moved, driving a fiery lance of pain through his shoulder.

Blinking the tears from his eyes, he climbed over the raised walkway between the couches and jammed himself into the angle between the monitor desk and the main panel.

“Alan,” he said, unclipping the chestpack of his suit to reach up and massage the pain from the front of his right shoulder. He pulled Carter back into his couch, working clumsily at the unconscious man’s harness.

A thumb against the lockplate at the side of his helm freed the visor latches. Koenig lifted the transparency onto the top of the helm, peering anxiously at the grey, bloodstained face beneath.

Carter flinched as unfiltered light washed across his eyelids.

“Alan? Alan, can you hear me?”

The half-conscious pilot licked a pair of bruised lips. A fit of coughing shook his frame. Koenig frowned as flecks of blood spattered the inside of his helm and began to ooze from both corners of his mouth. If a broken rib had gone into a lung …

“Mmm, Tony?” More coughing, more blood. “Tony, is that you?” croaked Carter. The eyelids flickered, trying to clear the blood that flowed into the eyes from a gash on Carter’s forehead.

“Tony, old mate,” he whispered. “I can’t see …”

“Alan,” said Koenig, willing his voice to be calm. “It’s all right …”

“Commander?”

He nodded. “Yes. You’ve got blood in your eyes. I … It doesn’t look too bad from here.”

Carter licked his lips again.

“Yeah,” he said. “Think I can see the monitors. You’re right …” He sniffed, painfully. “How are you feeling?”

“Think I’ve dislocated my shoulder,” said Koenig. “Don’t think anything’s broken.”

Carter nodded. “I’ll take a look …”

“Hold it, Alan.” Koenig wiped the back of his hand across his forehead.

“But …”

“Sit still. You have any chest pains?”

Carter blinked the last traces of the blood that blindfolded him from his eyes. He shook his head.

“Nothing, Commander. Why?”

“No pains at all?” Nothing feels broken?”

Carter lifted his right hand. “Feels as though I’ve a bad gash in here …”

Koenig unfastened Carter’s helm and threw it onto his couch.

“You’ve been coughing up blood,” he said, reaching into the neck ring. “You could have a rib through a lung …”

Carter was suddenly smiling. Koenig stared at him in surprise.

“Alan, I’m serious,” he said. “You could be injured …”

“No way, Commander.”

“But you had a mouthful of blood …”

“Sure,” replied Carter. “I bit my tongue.”

“You ..?”

The pilot grinned. Koenig leaned back against the panel behind him. “Of all the crazy …” he began.

“What about your shoulder?” said Carter, peering doubtfully at the break in his gauntlet box.

“I’ll survive. You sure you’re all right?”

Carter broke the seal of the box and pulled the glove from his hand.

“Yeah, sure,” he answered, wiping the blood onto the front of his suit. “Stay there. I’ll see if I can find a medical kit.”

He climbed from his couch and began shrugging the suit from his shoulders, trying to avoid touching the tear across the back of his hand that had filled his gauntlet with blood.

“Any news of the others?” he called, dragging an aluminised box from beneath his couch.

Koenig shook his head. “No,” he replied, looking towards the ominously silent hatch behind Carter. “And it’s too damn quiet back there for my liking …”

“Oh, for crying out loud …”

Carter leaned against the hatch, eyes riveted by a cluster of instruments on the monitor desk behind Koenig’s couch.

The Commander shuffled forward, right arm held stiffly at his side.

“What is it?”

Carter nodded at the panel.

“The separators have fired. So have the escape rockets.” He faced Koenig. “Wherever we are, we’ve lost the rest of the Eagle, pod and all.”

Koenig’s mouth worked silently for a moment.

“Helena?” he whispered.

Carter slumped against the aft bulkhead, eyes close in both physical and emotional pain.

“And Carole,” he growled. “And Tony.”

His eyes slowly opened, staring sightlessly at the wrecked control panels. “Carole,” he repeated, softly. “”Oh, Christ. It’s happened again. It’s bloody well happened again, and I was flying the dammed thing …”

“Alan …”

Bewilderment was in the pilot’s face as he looked into Koenig’s.

“Don’t you see?” he said. “She’s dead again, just like before. Kali’s dead again …”

Koenig frowned.

“Kali? Who’s dead again? Who ..?”

“Kali … No, Carole. Carole’s dead again.” He shook his head. “No, not again. I mean …”

“Alan!”

Koenig’s voice was harsh, the bitterness he forced into it driving as much pain into his soul as he knew it was into Carter’s.

A strange expression flickered across the pilot’s face, his mouth open, halted in mid-sentence. He inhaled, licking his lips. His head rocked back to rest against the cold, impartial hatch. His eyes closed.

The eyelids snapped open, the eyes the colour of burnished steel, pinning Koenig squarely in his gaze.

“Sorry, Commander,” he said. “I …”

“All right, Alan,” replied Koenig, nodding. “I understand.”

Carter released the catches of the medical pack and began rummaging among its contents.

“Let me see to this hand and I’ll have a look at your shoulder for you …”

“Alan?”

Carter glanced back up into Koenig’s face.

“Yeah, Commander?”

“We can replay the telemetry. If we came out of re-entry in one piece …”

“Sure, Commander. If we re-entered in one piece, if the shell stayed intact, if the bolts fired at the right altitude, if the ‘chutes deployed, if the pod landed level, If, if, if,” he threw a packet of dressings into the kit and slammed its lid. Lifting and aiming an aerosol at the back of his hand, he sprayed a cloud of anti-biotics into the cut, surprising himself at the ferocity with which the drugs burned into the torn skin.

Koenig sat on the edge of his couch.

“Alan,” he said, slowly. “I know its not much comfort, but Helena means as much to me as Carole does to you. Probably more so.”

Carter nodded. “Yeah, I guess so,” he replied, “but it’s all so like something that’s happened before …”

“Kali?”

Carter placed the aerosol on the top of the medic kit and rubbed the stubble on his chin.

“Yes,” he said. “The only girl I ever really fell in love with …”

“Until Carole?”

He swallowed the knot of emotion that filled the back of his throat, his silence answering Koenig’s question for him.

“It’s a cruel universe, Alan,” he said, simply.

“Yeah,” agreed Carter, looking up at him. He cleared his throat.

“Here,” he said. “Let’s take a look at that shoulder of yours.”

He stood and helped Koenig out of his suit. Carter examined the damage with the kind of care he normally reserved for a sensitive piece of machinery, as, at the same time, Koenig made his own study of the other man.

“Think you can do anything?” he said, finally.

Carter gave a non-committal grunt. “Well, nothing’s broken, we can be thankful for that,” he said.

“Can you fix it?”

Carter glanced into his superior’s face.

“It’s gonna hurt,” he promised.

Koenig shrugged his uninjured shoulder. Carter took that as permission to proceed, and bent once more to the medic pack.

“You’re all tensed up,” he said. “I’ll have to give you a shot to relax the muscles. Even then it’s gonna hurt like hell when the drug wears off.”

Carter squinted at the dosage meter on the side of a disposable hypo. Koenig glanced at him.

“Let’s get it over with, Alan.”

“Okay, Commander,” replied Carter, turning to unclip the fire extinguisher from the bulkhead behind him. “Lean against the hatch. I’ll give you the shot first.”

Koenig did as requested. Carter pressed the tip of the hypo to the front of the injured shoulder and fired a few cc’s of painkiller through the shirt into the skin beneath.

“Try and relax,” he instructed, taking Koenig’s arm in one hand and slipping the extinguisher under the joint. “It’ll be painful even with the drugs,” he warned, “but this should work first time …”

“Should?” muttered Koneig, watching Carter’s progress with doubt on his face. The pilot remained silent, eft hand on the point of Koenig’s shoulder, right gripping and turning the wrist.

“Right,” said, finally, reaching forward to push the body of the extinguisher firmly into the joint. “Ready, Commander?”

Before Koenig could make any reply, let alone say whether he was prepared or not, Carter wrenched the arm sideways, levering the displaced bone about the extinguisher.

Something exploded through Koenig’s shoulder, driving sheets of pain into him. Blinded by the lights that flashed through his brain, he felt the drag of bone against tendon and heard the crack of the overloaded sinews pulling the joint back together once more.

He fell to his knees, oblivious to the fate of the extinguisher as it clattered across the floor. Carter crouched before him, fingers back around the shoulder. He gave a grunt of satisfaction as the dazed Koenig concentrated on working out where he was.

“That did it,” said Carter, simply.

“You can say that again,” gasped Koenig, massaging the bruises on his arm. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

“Playing football in a tough neighbourhood,” he replied. “I’ll fix up a sling for you. There’ll be some swelling, but it’ll heal itself now.”

Carter stood and walked to the front of the cabin. Koenig looked up towards the astronaut’s retreating back.

“Thanks. Alan,” he said.

“Don’t mention it, Commander,” he answered, leaning tiredly aginst the pillar between the viewports. He did not turn round.

Koenig watched him in silence. Finally, he spoke: “Alan, there was nothing you could have done. Getting us down in one piece was barely short of a miracle …”

“Sure, Commander,” he answered, bitterly, jabbing angrily at the switches that should have released the viewport covers. Maddeningly, they remained closed, sealing the two men inside the suddenly claustrophobic confines of the beak.

There was another, interminable silence, broken suddenly by Koenig.

“We don’t know for sure that they’re dead…”

Carter turned to face him, the expression of helpless regret he wore speaking volumes.

“Yeah, I know, Commander. There’s nothing we can do now, anyway.”

“At least, not while we’re stuck in here we can’t,” added Koenig, pulling himself to his feet and walking forward to study what remained of the control panel. Carter stared silently at the large, red “13” stencilled onto the centre of the aft hatch.

“She was only a kid,” he said, softly.

Koneig glanced sideways at him.

“Who?” he said. “Carole?”

Carter nodded. “She didn’t deserve it …”

“Neither did Helena,” said Koenig, quietly. “Or Tony …”

Carter looked into his face, realising in that moment the loss he shared with the other man. He inhaled, deeply.

“You’re right,” he said. “I’m just being selfish …”

“No, you’re not, Alan. I understand.” He motioned towards the wrecked instruments before them. “Come on, let’s find out where we are. Luna’s just two months away. I aim to be here waiting for them when they arrive.”

The merest glimmer of a smile tugged at the corners of Carter’s mouth.

“Okay, Commander. Be right with you …”

* * *

Ebron ran until the air screamed in his lungs. Heedless of the blood hat streamed down his arm and back, he continued literally by sheer effort of will.

Blind to the panic of the crowd that had thronged to witness his execution, the semi-conscious Elnhe still clutched in his arms, he somehow made his way from the main city streets to the quieter back-alleys behind the temple buildings.

Gasping for breath, he limped to a painful halt, leaning against the cool stone wall of a squat, windowless structure that ran the length of the street. Elnhe, regaining her wits as rapidly as he was losing consciousness, peered anxiously into his face.

“Ebron, are you all right?”

In spite of his weakness, he could still manage a smile.

“We have won,” he whispered. “I said there was hope …”

“But …” she faltered, “But what was it? That thing that destroyed the temple …”

“I do not know,” he replied. “Nor do I care.”

“But if it was of Astra …”

“If it was of Astra, it saved our lives. Someone smiles on us, Elnhe. If it is Astra, I thank him for it.”

He wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of his hand. 

“What do we do now?” she said, lifting his arm to examine the wound.

He nodded towards the treeline above the city.

“The forests, we’ll find friends there. Others who reject Astra and the priests.”

“You know these people?”

He smiled. “I’ve spent most of my life trying to avoid having to capture any of them for the priests. They know me, and can help us.”

A puzzled frown flashed across his face.

“What is it, Ebron?”

He shook his head.

“Dizzy,” he said. “Loss of blood. I’ll be all right when we get clear of the city.”

“You are sure you can travel?”

“I don’t have any choice, Elnhe.”

She glanced along the otherwise empty street.

“How far?” she said.

“Not far. Just over the crest of the hill.”

She looked above the rooftops towards the tree-rimmed horizon.

“Are you strong enough to travel?”

“For you,” he said softly, “strong enough to walk to hell and back …”

His left foot slid out from beneath him, almost tipping the both of them to the ground. Elnhe dragged him upright again.

“Ebron, you’re hurt. Badly hurt. I must …”

“No,” he said, voice suddenly determined. “We are still in danger as long as we stay in the city. In the forests we’ll be safe until we are found by my friends. If anyone saw our escape, they will know, and be looking for us.”

He leaned forward, kissing her tenderly.

“Be brave, my love. It takes more than a simple flesh wound to deal with this soldier.”

He leaned back against the wall, fighting the wave of dizziness that engulfed him.

“With me, Elnhe,” he called. “We really have won this time …”

* * *

The journey from the city was a nightmare, more so for Elnhe than for Ebron, she expecting him to collapse from loss of blood at any moment. The forest thickened as they pushed deeper into it, their progress hampered by the rising ground and the brightly coloured undergrowth,

Ebron, eyes glazed, walked like an automaton, Elnhe watching him with a frightened expression on her face.

“Ebron,” she called as, shaking his head groggily, he leaned against the ribbed trunk of a stubby, red-flowered tree.

“I’m all right,” he insisted, pushing at the trunk and standing as nearly upright as he could manage.

“Look,” she said, “we’re clear of the city. Can’t we rest for a few moments?”

Ebron shook his head.

“If the priests do decide to send soldiers after us,” he panted, “they’ll search down here. We’ll be safe if we can get beyond the high treeline. The search parties never go into the sacred forests.”

“Sacred forests?” Elnhe glanced sideways at him, then up to the shadowy undergrowth above them.

“Astra’s forests,” he explained. “The one he emerges from each dawn. Though they are really afraid of the disbelievers who hide out there.”

“You mean outlaws, like us?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Yes,” he said. “Now you come to mention it, I suppose we are outlaws. Out of the laws of the city, anyway, if not out of the laws of common sense.” He glanced back in the direction they had come. “Then, of course, there are the Sharmen in the mountains to worry about.”

Her eyes widened a fraction.

“The who?” she said.

“The Sharmen. Black wizards who kill by night …”

She shook her head in bewilderment. “Yiu never told me anything about this before …”

“I couldn’t, Elnhe. I, uh, I didn’t really trust you, or your handmaidens, not to betray me.”

“I take it you trust me now,” she said sarcastically.

“Of course I do.”

“So what else haven’t you warned me about? And how is it you seem to know so much about these outsiders?”

He looked into her face.

“I have family among them,” he said. “And,” he added quietly, “so do you.”

“I … what do you mean?”

“You have a brother, Slar …”

She frowned. “Had a brother. He was a soldier, like you, killed looking fro runaways …” Her voice tailed to silence, her mouth open as she realised what he was saying.  
“You mean he’s still alive?”

Ebron nodded. “He was attacked by his own troopers. The priests had realised that he was turning against them, and ordered his death.”

“But if they wanted him dead …”

Ebron smiled. “The runaways got to them first. Drove off the troopers so that they could report back that he had been destroyed by the outlaws of the forest.” He glanced at his arm, then began to limp across the moss-covered ground. “You can see him as soon as we find their camp.”

Elnhe could neither laugh nor cry, but wanted to do both.

“Ebron, I … does father know?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. Certainly I have not told him.” He aimed a look at her. “I couldn’t even trust him …”

Elnhe paused, a worried expression on her face.

“Oh, father,” she whispered. “The priests. What will they say to him after what we’ve done?”

“He will be all right, Elnhe. He’s no threat to the priests …”

It was obvious from the girl’s expression that she was unconvinced. A half-smile creased Ebron’s face. “Look,” he said, “if it will be any comfort I will ask that a watch be kept on him.”

“You can do that?”

He nodded. “There are many of us still in the city. And as soon as the people forget our faces even we can return. Not as soldier or priestess, perhaps, but as some anonymous citizen going about his lawful business …”

“Recruiting more runaways?”

“Perhaps.” His arm slipped round her shoulders. His lips brushed hers for the merest of moments. “Come on, let’s get out of here before I lose anymore blood.”

She smiled, for the first time since they had left what was to be their execution cell. They stumbled onward. For all his brave talk, Ebron was desperately weak, and at constant threat of total collapse.

One tree root too many tripped him. Elnhe fell with him, peering anxiously into his face as he rolled onto his back.

“Ebron …”

“All right. I fell, that’s all.”

He inhaled deeply, marshaling the effort needed to regain his feet. Elnhe was looking nervously about herself.

“Ebron,” she said, “Do wild animals live in these forests?”

His brow furrowed in concentration. “Uh … Spivaks do. But they only hunt at night.” He frowned. “Why? Do you hear something?”

“I don’t know. There’s something, through the trees, up there.”

She pointed up the rising slope. Ebron craned his head around to look along her finger.

“We must be near the tree line,” he said. “We haven’t far to go, now.”

“Could the priests have followed us?”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “We must keep moving. Help me up, Elnhe. It’s not far now …”

The girl stiffened.

“There,” she hissed. “Listen. A singing noise, like a giant insect.”

Ebron frowned, hearing the whining sound she described. “I’ve never heard that before …” he said.

“Spivaks?”

“No, but they’ll be sniffing around to find out what it is. They think they own the forests, and are more curious than a runaway.”

Using his good arm as a lever beneath him, he rolled onto his side and tried to get to his feet. “Elnhe, help me. We must keep moving. We’re not safe yet.”

She nodded, turning to help him to stand.

“It’s stopped,” she said, suddenly.

“Yes. I wonder what it was …”

Ebron froze, combat trained senses alert to the sound of something moving through the undergrowth behind them.

“What is it?”

“Be quiet,” he whispered. “I think …”

Elnhe uttered a tiny squeak of alarm as the creature breasted the foliage across the clearing. Her only impression of it was that it was pure killer, from the canine teeth that rimmed its powerful jaws to the wickedly sharp talons that curved from its feet.

The jaws opened a fraction, a bestial hiss of triumph sounding in its cavernous throat. It may have been used to making it own kills, but the bloodstained prize it had stumbled on was too good an opportunity to miss.

Ebron focused on the two, piggy red orbs below the ribbed forehead. “Elnhe,” he said, calmly. “It will attack me first. When I tell you, you run as fast as you can and find a tree to climb. It’ll lose interest in you if it can’t get at you …”

Her eyes widened with horror.

“Ebron, I can’t leave you. You can hardly walk, let alone run …”

“Keep walking away from the city. The others will find you …”

“Ebron …”

Elnhe, do as I say.” The thing took a step forward, its black nostrils widening as it sniffed the odour of human blood that tainted the air.

“But …”

“Do as I say,” he repeated, firmly. “I didn’t go through all this to see you killed by this witless beast.”

“I … Ebron, please …”

“For me, Elnhe, please.”

“I love you, Ebron.”

He nodded. “I love you, too, Elnhe …

The spivak uttered a hoarse, chattering growl, taking another menacing step forward. It reared up on its hind legs, starting its killing leap.

“Run, Elnhe,” yelled Ebron. “Now!”

She turned, bursting through the undergrowth behind her as the creature skittered lithely across the clearing. Ebron stood his ground, arms lifting automatically in a last, defensive stand against the beast.

To his amazement and horror, it ignored him, plunging into the brush after Elnhe. The thing was intelligent, wise even. It knew Ebron was as good as dead, and could be returned to at any time. The girl was a different prospect: it was her that it sought.

Elnhe realised that she could not hope to outrun the animal even as she heard it dive in pursuit. Only her instinct for survival carried her through the clutching foliage, her lungs bursting with the effort. Instinct, and the terror born of tales of wild, man-eating creatures heard as a child, and nightmares suddenly, terribly coming true.

Abruptly, unexpectedly, the undergrowth cleared, and she could feel grass beneath her feet. But, in spite of all the unimaginable terrors promised by the beast that pursued her, the sight that met her froze her in her tracks. She stared, paralysed with shock, at the great metal thing that had crushed even the trees as it settled here.

“Ebron” she screamed, “By the mercy of Astra ..””

Yet, even as she spoke, the Spivak, mind and body geared solely to killing its latest prey, crashed through the brush behind her …  
 


	8. Chapter 8

Verdeschi closed the safety switch and placed the power cutter on the seat beside Carole.

“That should do it,” he muttered, slipping his fingers under the length of framework he’d just cut free. He lifted it easily, discarding it behind him as he turned back to examine the unconscious figure it had imprisoned. Helena knelt beside him, looking up into her face.

“Let her sleep, Tony,” she said. “Poor girl’s had a hell of a shock. I think she’ll be all right now.”

Verdeschi nodded, reaching for the cutter.

“Anything on the commlock?” he asked. Helena shook her head.

“Nothing. They both work, but I can’t raise John or Alan.”

Verdeschi pulled a grimace.

“Could be a dozen reasons why not,” he said. “Power failure, shielding by metallic formations …”

“Or that they really are dead.”

Verdeschi remained silent, standing and climbing into the forward tunnel. Leaning against the hatch frame, he unclipped the cutter from the chuck of the power unit and pressed it into its socket in the open tool rack beside him. Glancing upwards, he pulled a chromed bar from a ceiling fitting.

“Hold on a minute, Helena,” he called. “I’ll see if I can get a pod hatch open.

He snapped the attachement into the power unit’s chuck, a brief squeeze of the operating trigger spinning its jaws to bite them firmly into the shank of the tool. Sliding over the lip of the hatchway, Verdeschi dropped to the dew-flecked grass, glancing curiously about himself.

‘Thirteen had chosen an unusual place indeed to serve as her final resting place. The plant life was both varied and colourful, vaguely tropical in appearance, without being oppressively tangled. He peered between the sun speckled tree trunks, wondering what kind of animal life must inhabit the forest and noting that any self-respecting Tarzan might make himself feel quite at home in such surroundings.

“Helena,” he called.

She appeared in the opening above him.

“Yes, Tony?”

“Everything looks quiet to me,” he said, “but I think I’ll have a laser, just in case.”

“Good idea,” agreed Helena, nodding. She vanished into the darkness of the tunnel, to re-emerge moments later bearing a holstered laser pistol. Verdeschi took it and clipped it to his suit above his hip. Helena studied him thoughfully.

“Be careful, Tony,” she said.

“You bet, Helena,” he replied, nodding his thanks. “Keep an eye on Carole for me. I’ll have this hatch open before you can say ‘commlock.’”

Helena smiled and turned back into the pod.

He sniffed the air. Breathable, and laden with an incalculable number of flowery perfumes. _Well,_ he thought, _there could be worse planets to be marooned on. Now, let’s take a look at this hatch._

He rounded the front of the Eagle. She was portside low, her nose lifted almost three meteres from the ground, propped upon a smashed tree stump. He approached the port pod hatch, dismissing the remains of the engines with a wry glance. Both nose sponsons had gone, as had the aft port and most of the aft starboard. Miraculously, the pod look intact, if burned and mud-stained.

He stood before the hatch. The lower edge was a little over a metre from the ground. He pulled a scrap of greenery from an access port and pushed the machined head of the tool into a cross-headed boss set into the centre of the panel.

He pushed the trigger. There was a growling sound as the wrench pulled against the stiffness of the mechanism, the power unit pushing back into his hand. There was a metallic crack as the mechanical break disengaged, and the tool whined eagerly as the load upon it diminished.

The panel inched open. Loose wreckage that had backed up against the door tumbled out at his feet. He released the trigger and stood back.

“Okay, Helena,” he began, “you can …”

A terrified scream spun him round. His jaw dropped in amazement as, across the clearing, he saw a naked and bloodstained girl.

But his senses took another jolt as the beast that was pursuing her crashed through the undergrowth behind her.

Dropping the power-wrench, he snatched the laser from its clip, flicking the selector on its top from ‘stun’ to ‘kill’ in one movement.

“Get down!” he yelled, aiming along it at the beast.

The laser fired, a golden ribbon of flame slicing through the air to gouge a smoking crater in the ground beside the carnivore. Startled by the plume of fire, the animal skittered sideways, passing within an arm’s length of the petrified girl.

Presented with an un-obscured target, Verdeschi couldn’t fail to score a hit. He didn’t, his second shot blowing a neat hole in the monster’s chest. The carcase tumbled to the ground, gave a last, futile twitch, and was still.

“Helena!” he shouted, making a cautious sweep of the suddenly hostile forest about them.

The doctor, alerted by the scream of his laser, appeared in the newly-opened hatchway.

“What is it ..?” she began, suddenly seeing the girl who had fallen, sobbing, to her knees beyond the dead animal.

“Pass me a blanket,” instructed Verdeschi. "And look out for any more of those things,” he added, nodding towards the body.

Helena dragged a stretcher pack from the rack beside the hatch. It clicked open, revealing a row of bright blue blankets. She removed the nearest and handed it to Verdeschi.

“Keep an eye on her,” he warned, “but she does look harmless enough …”

Her eyes widened with fright as he approached, glancing between the blasted Spivak and the laser clutched in Verdeschi’s right hand. Suddenly realising that he was still holding it, he replaced it into its holster, holding the open blanket before him.

She shrank away as he knelt before her, the blanket extended towards her.

“It’s all right,” he said, in as soft and comforting a voice as he could muster. “It can’t hurt you now. You’re going to be all right.”

He smiled into her face, noting that, under the grime, she was not merely pretty, but very beautiful. He sat back as she grabbed the blanket and pulled it tightly about herself. Worried concern began to replace the fear in her eyes.

“Ebron,” she said suddenly, plaintively.

“Ebron?” mimicked Verdeschi, in surprise.

She nodded. “Ebron,” she repeated, glancing over her shoulder. There was a light, padding sound as Helena came to stand by her colleague’s side.

“Ebron,” said Verdeschi. “That your name?”

A tear glistened down her cheek. “Ebron,” she whispered.

Verdeschi frowned.

“Can you hear me?” he said. “Can you understand?”

“I think it’s a bit much to expect an inhabitant of an alien planet to understand English, tony,” suggested Helena, kneeling beside him to look into the girl’s face.

She smiled at her.

“Ebron?” she asked softly, pointing at her.

The girl shook her head, twisting to look into the undergrowth behind her. A grubby finger emerged from beneath a fold in the blanket. Verdeschi turned to see, then glanced at Helena.

“Think she means someone else?”

Helena shrugged her shoulders. “Could be,” she said.

“Cover me,” said Verdeschi. “I’ll take a look. Keep an eye open for …”

“Elnhe!”

Verdeschi stood and spun, the laser flicking into his hand and centering on the battered figure that staggered into the clearing.

“Ebron!” gasped the girl, standing and running towards him. They embraced tightly, her weeping thankfully into his shoulder as he stared coldly at Verdeschi.

“I don’t think you’ll be needing that,” observed Helena, pointing at the laser. He nodded and, aiming a cautious glance at the other man, replaced it into its clip.

“So she’s Elnhe and he’s Ebron,” commented Helena quietly. The two Alphans watched the first of the planet’s inhabitants they had so far encountered closely. Elnhe, shoulder’s heaving as she wept, appeared to be giving a detailed account of their meeting. She pointed to the wrecked Eagle, then to the dead beast and finally to Verdeschi.

Ebron kissed her tenderly, then, stroking her shoulder beneath the blanket, spoke again. She replied, nodding first at Verdeschi, then at Helena.

“Tony,” said Helena, “I think he’s hurt. Look at his face.”

“You didn’t see the blood?”

She frowned. “What blood? Where ..?”

“On his arm. As he reached for her …”

Ebron kissed the girl again, then limped forward. A gust of wind caught the loose front of the right sleeve, billowing it back to reveal the massive stain across the material.

“Merciful heavens!” gasped Helena. “Ebron,” she said, raising her voice.

The man halted, frowning. Helena began walking slowly towards him, handing her laser to Verdeschi as she passed him. She paused, holding her empty hands before her.

“You’re hurt,” she said softly, seeking out his eyes. “I can help …”

She knew that the words would be as meaningless to the aliens as their language was to her, hoping that the reassuring tone of her voice would serve to convey her meaning. Ebron’s eyes hooded. Suspicion on his face, he watched as she approached.

“Tony,” she said in the same, softly persuasive tone, “if he tries to make a run for it, stop him. If this wound is as bad as it looks, he’s not going to survive the night without treatment.”

She paused, left hand scant centimeters from his right. Their eyes met once more.

“All right. It’s going to be all right …”

She touched the hand. Whether the expression on Ebron’s face was terror, pain, or fatigue, she could not tell. He looked down as she lifted the arm, peeling back the sleeve from the wound with her right hand.

“Oh, god,” she breathed. “What a mess. Tony, get a medikit.”

“But …”

“I’ll be all right. Go get a medikit and a flask of water.”

Releasing the sleeve, she reached for the medikit on her belt. “All right, old fella,” she soothed. “I’m here to help …”

She was conscious of the other girl’s anxious stare, and glanced at her as she extricated a tiny can of antiseptic from the kit. Breaking the seal with her thumb, and before the man could make a move to resist, she squirted the cylinder’s contents over the wound.

Ebron gave a yelp of surprise and pulled away, his other hand clasped protectively over the wound. A puzzled expression flashed across his features and, with a tired sigh, he collapsed at her feet.

“Ebron!”

Elnhe launched herself at Helena, who turned to fend her off.

“It’s all right,” she shouted. “He’s only fainted …”

Elnhe may not have understood Helena, but the Docotor had little doubts over the tirade aimed at her by the other girl. 

Something thudded into them, pitching Helena to the ground. She rolled onto her side, to see Verdeschi, a livid and suddenly inexplicably naked Elnhe in his arms.

Helena stood and straightened out her suit. “Thanks for the timely rescue,” she said.

“Don’t mention it,” replied Verdeschi, as Enhe, realising he was far too strong for her in her weakened state, slowly ceased her struggles.

“Well,” observed Helena, “the least you can do is not look so darn pleased with yourself …”

He smiled. “If this is a typical example of the population of this planet,” he said, “I don’t think I’m going to mind being marooned here.”

Helena shot him a significant glance, then returned to her patient. Verdeschi released Elnhe, who stood, tearfully, some distance away from her, watching as she cleaned and dressed Ebron’s wounds.

She started as Verdeschi draped the blanket around her shoulders once more. He smiled at her, to be rewarded by the merest twitches of the corners of her mouth. He lifted a corner of the blanket to wipe a tear from her cheek. She sniffed, her expression suddenly softening,a smile blossoming to banish the fear from her face.

“How’s Ebron, Helena?” he called, over his shoulder.

“He’s lost a lot of blood,” she admitted. “I’ve cleaned up the injury. I’m afraid I can’t risk using any antibiotics in case their systems aren’t compatible with ours. Anyway, I’ve cleaned the cut out, it should be sterile now.”

Verdeschi’s arm slipped comfortingly around Elnhe’s shoulder. He turned her to face Ebron, pointing towards the white pad of bandages that covered the man’s forearm. He released her and stood back. She glance nervously at him. He nodded back towards the man on the ground. She knelt beside him, opposite Helena, watching as she broke the seals on a bandage pack and unscrewed the top of the flask of water. Dowsing the material with water, she began to wipe the blood from the back of Ebron’s hand.

“Ebron …” whispered Elnhe, placing a fingertip lightly on his lips.

Helena tore the wrappings from another bandage and held it before Elnhe. Cautiously, the girl took it. Helena lifted the flask and emptied its contents over the bandage.

Elnhe thanked her with a nervous smile, then set to clearing the grime from Ebron’s face. Satisfied that her latest patient was in more than capable hands, Helena stood and walked towards Verdeschi.

“There’s something going on around here that’s going to take a lot of explaining,” she said quietly, turning to regard the two fugitives.

Verdeschi frowned. “What do you mean?”

“That man’s been stabbed,” she replied. “The wound is cut on both sides. Could have been a dagger or a double-edged knife.”

Verdeschi nodded, thoughtfully.

“Yes,” he said. “And I wonder why the girl isn’t wearing anything. They both seem fairly intelligent – they’re certainly not primitives, not by a long way.”

“Think somebody could be chasing them?”

“Could be,” he agreed. “Which means we’ll be in danger if we stay here.” He shook his head. “If only we could communicate …”

“Tony? Dr Russell?”

They turned, to see Carole, dazed and confused, standing in the hatchway of the pod. They walked towards her.

“Hey, Carole,” Verdeschi called. “You all right?”

She nodded. “Yes,” she said. “I think so.”

She looked about herself, frowning at the forest that ringed the clearing.

“Where’s Alan? What happened to the beak?”

Verdeschi glanced at Helena.

“We don’t know,” he said.

Carole’s eyes closed as she leaned against the door frame. “Oh, god,” she whispered. “I remember. Yes, I remember now. I thought it was all a nightmare, but it’s true, isn’t it.” She glance wearily at Verdeschi. “Alan’s dead, isn’t he?”

He shook his head, helplessly.

“I don’t know, Carole.”

“Carole,” Helena walked forward, a determined expression on her face. “If, and it’s a big if, Alan is dead, he died trying to save our lives. It’s up to us to survive, if only to perpetuate his memory.” She sought out Carole’s eyes. “Do you understand? We can’t give up now.”

“For Alan’s sake?” the youngster replied.

Helena nodded. “For Alan’s sake,” she repeated.

“Come on, Carole,” said Verdeschi, reaching up to her. “Meet a couple of friends of ours.”

He lifted her from the hatchway. Setting her on the springy turf, he placed an arm around her shoulders, comforting her as he had done the other girl.

“Her name’s Elnhe,” he said. “The man is Ebron.”

“What happened to them?”

“Your guess is as good as ours, Carole,” said Helena, glancing at the forest. “You know, Tony,” she added, “if anyone is following them, I’d have thought they’d be here by now.”

“Unless we scared them off,” he suggested.

Elnhe turned to look at them, smiling nervously at the three, orange-suited creatures that could kill Spivaks with beams of light. She place a finger on her chest.

“Elnhe,” she said, timidly, then pointed at Verdeschi.

“Tony,” he said. She frowned.

“Tony?” she repeated, haltingly.

He nodded, then turned to point at the others in turn. “Helena. Carole.”

Again the girl repeated the names.

“Score another point for humanoid intelligence,” commented Verdeschi, smiling.

“Well, it’s not much,” said Helena, “but at least they’re trying to communicate.”

Verdeschi picked up one of the damp bandages. Carefully, tenderly, he began to wipe her face. Elneh made no move to stop him, her expression honestly thankful, not to mention relieved.

_Friends,_ he thought. _Whoever they are, it’s good to have friends …_

The crash of something pushing through the foliage echoed across the clearing.

“Stay there,” Verdeschi ordered sharply. He dropped the bandage and stood to face the source of the sound. He drew the laser, eyes darting between the tree-trunks.

A tearing, crunching sound spun him to his left.

“Hell fire,” he gasped, as a creature the size of an adolescent African elephant shouldered from the scrub line. As he lifted the laser, his mind stored just two facts about the creature; one, it had six legs, and two, it was being ridden, perhaps guided, by a shapely female form sitting astride its massive neck.

“Into the Eagle,” he yelled, aiming for the beast’s slab-sided head. Before he could squeeze the trigger, a thin leather thing, weighted at each end, whipped around his arm, dragging it sideways and down. More followed, pinning his arms and legs, the weights thudding painfully into him as the straps tightened.

Overbalanced, he pitched forward as the thing advanced, its three pairs of claw tipped feet stepping almost daintily towards him. It halted, the great head swinging slowly above him. Elegantly, the girl dismounted to study her captive as, about the clearing, several dozen figures, male and female, appeared, each staring in cautious fascination at the wrecked Eagle and the three Alphans.

Verdeschi and the girl watched each other for several moments. She was slim and lithe, about his age and height, holding her body with a proud, confident air. A thick, luxuriant mane of bronze hair brushed her shoulders. She was wearing what Verdeschi could only describe as a fur bikini and, he noted, not very much else. Her hands and feet were bare, but there were twists of gold about her upper arms and ankles.

Verdeschi’s eyebrows arched as he noted the dagger at either hip, and the tiny stiletto in the clasp on her left forearm. His attention, however, was drawn, hypnotically, to her face. If ever a woman could be the epitome of absolute, animal beauty, then she was her.

The eyes, deep and dark, glowed with an unmatched determination above sharply chiselled cheekbones. The mouth twitched, confidence dominating her expression.

She gave a curt nod, then turned to stroll towards Elnhe and her injured companion. She paused as she recognised Ebron, running forward and kneeling by his head.

Verdeschi watched her engage in an animated conversation with Elnhe. Trussed like a Thanksgiving turkey, he couldn’t move. His own laser was still in its clip, Helena’s beneath him and out of reach. Behind him, Helena and Carole, surrounded by a ring of sword-carrying natives, were powerless to help.

Conversation over, the brown haired amazon embraced Elnhe, then stood to walk towards Verdeschi. A pair of long-lashed eyelids flickered as, drawing one of her daggers, she knelt beside him.

She leaned forward, an exquisite, musky scent that was all woman teasing Verdeschi’s senses. Her face bore a smile that was all-triumphant as her knife lifted unwaveringly above the helpless human …

* * *

Kemargian contemplated the object in silence. Only the preists and their elite troopers would have dared approach the temple uninvited, and the merest of sounds echoed about the thing and the remains of the roof strewn about it.

The priest’s head tilted back.

“What are you?” he called, his only reply being his echo, reverberating through the great stone vault. “If you are of Astra, what do you mean?”

The beak remained silent, the black recesses in its top that could once have been eyes staring mockingly down at him.

“Kemargian …”

He turned at the voice, aiming a last glance at the destroyer of his temple. He walked to the end of the chamber, where Evestregen was waiting for him.

“Kemargian,” he said, “the people are near panic. They are relying on us to interpret this … this …” He nodded at the beak. “This visitation.”

“Do you know what it means?” asked Kemargian.

Evestregen shook his head. “No, I do not.”

“Then that would make two of us,” admitted the priest. “I’m not even sure it is of Astra.”

Evestregen stared at him, a horrified expression on his face.

“Not of Astra?” he hissed. “Then where did it come from, and how?”

“You agree that it may not be of Astra?”

“No!” Evestregen shook his head, frowning. “I mean, I don’t know …”

“Never in all our recorded history has anything like this happened. And we know the unbelievers to be possessed of high cunning.”

Kemargian’s colleague sot another glance at the beak, haloed now in a shaft of sunlight that poured through the hole it had torn in the roof.

“You think they are capable of engineering such an event?” he said. Kemargian shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t know,” he said, finally. “But,” he looked into the face of the other man,” we must do something to quell the panic-fever of the people. More importantly, if this thing is of Astra, we must appease him.”

“Another sacrifice?”

Kemargian nodded. “We have little choice,” he said. “A sacrifice would please Astra and reassure the people.”

“How many will be sacrificed?”

Kemargian frowned. “I have yet to decide. A girl, of course, but she should have an escort. The true appeasement ceremony calls for soldiers to accompany and defend her on her journey to Astra.”

“We shall have to take one of the maidens being prepared for the great solstice …”

“Yes, I know,” began Kemargian. He paused. “Wait a moment,” he said, suddenly. “We know there are unbelievers in the forests – the sacred forests of Astra …”

“That is what we believe,” replied Evestregen.

Kemargian smiled.

Then what more significant justice than having unbeliever soldiers to defend a daughter of Astra?”

Evestregen nodded, suddenly seeing his superior’s argument.

“Of course,” he agreed, “and by telling the troopers that they are on a holy quest, they will enter Astra’s forests unafraid.”

Kemargian smiled, triumph in his eyes. “And, consider this, old friend,” he said. “If we were to capture an unbeliever girl …”

“We would preserve our own sacrifices and strike a double blow for Astra,” completed Evestregen, eagerly.

Kemargian looked towards the beak. 

“Yes,” he said. “Perhaps it really is a message from Astra.” He glanced at Evestregen. “Has it not given us the need and the strength to strike back at the unbelievers on their own ground?”

The other man nodded.

“Alert the guard,” he continued. “Order them to find a girl and her escort to offer to Astra …”

* * *

A plume of white, eye-stinging smoke curled from the tip of the soldering gun to drift lazily to the upper bulkhead. Carter lifted the gun from the circuit board and blew at the blob of shining metal. He watched as it cooled, dulling as it solidified, then slid the board back into its instrument rack. He glanced across the cabin at Koenig.

“How’s the shoulder, Commander?”

Koening clipped the commlock to his belt and turned to face him.

“Fine,” he replied. “Whatever you did seemed to have worked.” He watched the pilot as he closed the inspection cover and reached up to throw a rwo of switches. Koening knew that the man’s quiet efficiency served to mask his true emotions.

“Still thinking about Carole?” he said.

Carter nodded.

“Yeah, Commander. Poor little devil. When we get back to Alpha I’m gonna see that everybody gets to know what she tried to do to save us …” He glanced at Koenig. 

“That’s a promise, Commander.”

“Sure, Alan.”

Carter watched as a row of lights glowed from a monitor panel.

“Trouble is,” he said, “that’s about all we can do for them.”

Koenig nodded.

“There’s nothing over the commlocks,” he said. “Not that I’m surprised, though. We’re in some kind of cave. At least, what sensors we still have the operate tell us we are. I wish I knew where the hell we were.” He lifted a survival pack from the walkway and placed it onto his couch. “Any luck with the hatch?”

Carter leaned the soldering gun against the side of the toolkit and stood up. “The impact bulged the frame,” he said, “Which means even if we had the power we couldn’t open the hatch. If that circuit,” he tapped the inspection cover, “holds out, we can blow the emergency bolts and push the whole unit clear.”

He picked up his commlock and slid the clasp over his belt.

“It’s dangerous,” he warned, “but we really don’t have much choice. These ships weren’t designed to take a crash like this …”

Koenig eyed the door. 

“This one did,” he said. “And we survived it. I aim to walk away from it as well.”

“With you on that, Commander. Do we try it?”

“Ready when you are, Alan. Will we be any safer in the suits?”

Carter nodded. “I’ve wired in an automatic countdown,” he said, climbing into his suit and closing the front seal with practised skill. “Just throw the master abort switch and we have ten seconds to get our heads down.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Then we suffocate, Commander,” he said, simply.

He locked the neck ring to his suit and reached for his helmet. Beside him, Koenig closed the visor of his helm and lowered himself into his shock couch. Carter did likewise, as Koenig reached forward and lifted the black-and-yellow striped protective panel, revealing the scarlet thumbplate. He stared for a moment at the white letters stencilled across it, then looked towards Carter.

“You’re the Commander,” said the pilot. “Fire away.”

“She’s your ship, Alan,” he replied, sitting back.

Carter nodded inside his helm.

“Thanks, Commander,” he replied, leaning towards the instrument panel, his voice quietening to a whisper. “This is it, ‘Thirteen. One last time, and we leave you in peace.”

He pressed the button. It glowed red, then dimmed. Carter, arms wrapped about his helm, pushed back in anticipation of the explosion that would tear out the aft end of the command module. He made a mental count as the circuitry armed the detonators. Four, three, two, one …

“Damn!”

Koenig began to stand, climbing from his couch.

“Okay, Commander,” said Carter. “I’ll take care of it …”

He slumped against the aft hatch, opening the inspection port and frowning at the rack of circuitry.

“Stay back, Commander,” he warned. “If these bolts fire …”

“Alan! Get clear of the door ...!”

He saw the blaze of light a fraction of a second too late. He kicked back, driving himself forward into the nose of the cabin, as the great orange plume of energy engulfed him.

Yet the withering blast of concussion that he expected was inexplicably absent. His only sensation was one of falling. Falling into a bottomless pit of eternal night.

_So this is what it’s like to die,_ he thought. _The soul, torn from the body, free of all sensation. Death is nothing. Total, absolute …_

Something hammered into his back and heels, and his head slammed into the padding of his helm. A dim, blue-white light glowed some indefinable distance above him.

He blinked his eyes. Turning his head stiffly to one side, he could see, past the corner of his faceplate, Koenig’s suit, lying as he was on a hard, white slab.

“Commander,” he called, fighting the tightness in his throat. “Can you hear me?”

His answer was a deep, booming voice that reverberated through the apparently limitless chamber.

“Commander John Robert Koenig. Captain Alan Carter. We welcome you to the vault of the gods …”


	9. Chapter 9

Koenig’s gloved fingers encountered the sharp-edged corner of the slab. He swung his legs sideways and, painfully and stiffly, sat upright. He looked up, seeing that, across the darkness of the chamber, Carter had done likewise.

“Commander?”

“Here, Alan. You all right?”

Carter shook his head, woozily. “Yeah,” he replied. “I think so. What happened?”

“I don’t know. All I remember is an orange light …”

“I thought I heard a voice,” began Carter. “Speaking in English, calling our names …”

“Your senses did not deceive you, Alan Carter,” echoed the voice. The astronaut stood up, looking into the darkness about him. “You may remove your helmets,” continued their invisible host. “The atmosphere is quite breathable.”

Koenig frowned at Carter. There was no reason to doubt the stranger’s words, but then again there was no reason to believe him, either. Giving a mental shrug of his shoulders, he unlocked his visor and, cautiously, pushed it open. 

The air was cool and tasteless, stamping it as artificially conditioned. Koenig inhaled, slowly and deeply. It was no real test, but the only practical one open to him. He uttered the infamous last words.

“It seems all right, Alan,” he called, unfastening the neck seal. He pulled his helm from his head and, tucking it under his left arm, stood forward from the plinth on which he had awoken.

A spotlight high above him clicked on, painting a disc of light upon the floor about him.

“Stay within the light,” instructed the voice. A second lamp ringed Carter, who removed his gauntlets and pushed them into his helm.

“Who are you?” called Koenig, his right hand slowly lifting to touch the side of his commlock. “What do you want?”

“Predictable questions,” said the voice, airily.

“Then answer them, damnit!” he called, beginning to lose his temper.

“All in good time, John Koenig. All in good time. But first you must be instructed on how to behave in a manner befitting your new status.”

“What new status?”

“Consider yourselves honoured, gentlemen. You have assume a position rarely offered to mortal men. You are no longer merely human. This day, John Koenig and Alan Carter, you become gods …”

Koenig’s mouth opened to speak. Before a sound could pass his lips, the orange light blossomed, plunging the two Alphans into blissful unconsciousness …

* * *

Verdeschi watched the knife descend until it touched his chest. Suddenly, the girl leaned forward, her lips, moist and firm, crushing against his.

“Mmmf?” uttered Verdeschi, in surprise. If this was a method of dispatching an enemy, it was certainly different. They separated, all too soon, after what seemed to Helena to be an eternity. The girl’s mouth was smiling, her eyes glittering with joy. There was a brief snick as the knife severed the straps that bound him. They fell free as she stood up, sliding the dagger back into its scabbard. He sat up, rubbing a bruised shoulder, an understandably confused expression on his face.

The girl turned and walked back towards Elnhe, issuing instructions to her colleagues as she went. The natives visibly relaxed, smiles appearing on their faces. Helena glanced at Verdeschi.

“Tony, are you all right?”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he replied, standing and, keeping a respectful distance from the girl’s six-legged mount, walking towards Helena. He glanced at the two females as they talked, each casting curiously friendly expressions in his direction.

“Who are they?” whispered Carole.

“Obviously friends of Elnhe and Ebron,” observed Helena. Verdeschi watched them, thoughtfully.

“They seem pleased to see us, anyway,” he said, staring in silent admiration at the fur-clad female.

“She seems to have taken to you, at least,” said Helena.

“Yes. But I don’t think that it’s my irresistible masculine charm she goes for,” he added, watching as the two girls embraced once more. Elnhe whispered something to the other girl and they both laughed, their voices ringing joyously about the clearing. Helena aimed a sidelong glance at Verdeschi as the girl gave him one, penetrating look, slowly licking her lips as she did so.

The Amazon turned and, with matchless agility, vaulted lightly onto the neck of the patiently waiting beast. She regard the Alphans along her elegant nose.

“Tony,” she said, crisply.

He stood forward.

“Etak,” she called, placing a hand on her chest.

A relieved smile banished the doubt from his face.

“Etak,” he said, then turned to repeat the naming ceremony to introduce her to Helena and Carole.

“Felick do tra ekterras,” said Etak, bowing towards them. She looked into Verdechi’s face. “Veh cum mu,” she added, patting behind her at the ridged back of the creature.

“I think she wants you to join her,” suggested Helena.

“Yes,” said Verdeschi. “That’s the message I got.”

He walked forward.

“Helena and Carole,” he said. “What about them?”

Etak frowned, then nodded.

“Helena, Carole, cum Ebron,” she said, pointing to Elnhe and the wounded man. Carole’s jaw dropped in surprise as Helena frowned.

Before either of them could speak, another six-legged beast, dragging a stout wooden cart, bulldozed its way into the clearing. Thought smaller than Etak’s mount, it was none the less impressive.

“Cum Ebron,” repeated Etak, nodding at the cart. “Unvehas.”

She looked towards Verdeschi, a glint in her eye. “Tony,” she said, almost sweetly, “Cum mu. Des ni peresh.”

Verdeschi approached the right flank of the animal, trying to remember how Etak had climbed aboard. Glancing at the unconcerned face of the strange creature, he put one foot experimentally on the first joint of the foremost leg.

“Bona,” encouraged Etak. “Heh, staksu dra cum.”

She sat sideways on the beast’s neck as he settled carefully down behind her.

“Tony,” she said, leaning in to kiss him, “kedo Spivak.”

He shook his head.

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about …” he began.

“Kedo Spivak,” she repeated. She tilted her head back, running a slender finger across her neck in the universal throat-cutting gesture. “Kedo,” she explained, then pointed to the blasted carcass of the horror that had nearly made a meal of Elnhe. “Spivak,” she said, emphatically.

She placed a hand on the front of his suit.

“Tony kedo Spivak.”

“So that’s what it is,” he muttered. “Spivak.”

She nodded.

“Spivak drang!” she said, gnashing her teeth theatrically. She smiled, then began laughing again. “Spivak ni kedo Tony,” she added. “Etak ni kedo Tony.”

Their eyes met, stilling the laughter in her throat.

Verdeschi lowered his head towards her. Slipping an arm about her waist, he returned her kiss.

“Etak no kill Tony,” he said slowly. She nodded, her arms winding about his neck.

“Etak aman Tony,” she breathed, pulling him close to her.

“Yes,” he whispered. “I think I love you, too …”

* * *

Evestregen watched as the trooper led his personal seril into the courtyard, the claws on each of its six, broad feet clicking on the cobblestones. The gold trim of his black armour glistening in the noon-day sunlight, he studied his mount carefully.

“The others are ready?” he called. The trooper snapped to attention.

“Ready, sir,” he replied.

“Good.”

The priest mounted the seril in one fluid movement.

He looked up. Kemargian was standing on a balcony jutting from the temple wall above him. He threw a casual and confident salute to the high priest, then guided the seril through the courtyard’s great iron gate.

Kemargian followed him, walking the length of the balcony. Beyond the courtyard wall were twenty lean serils, each ridden by a black armoured trooper. Twenty steel-tipped lances thrust proudly into the sky, and twenty razor-sharp swords waited eagerly to taste heathen blood.

The priest nodded, watching as Evestregen rode to the head of his troop. _Today is the turning point,_ he thought. _Today we destroy the unbelievers and return to the true path of Astra …_

* * *

Koenig blinked his eyes open. He had a blinding headache, and something was buzzing insistently in his ears. A thin, white sheet covered him. He pulled it aside and sat up, every muscle and joint complaining with the effort.

He swung his legs over the side of the softly-upholstered couch and sat with his head cradled in his hands. The floor and walls were so white they glowed, jarring his battered optic nerves.

“Commander?”

He looked drunkenly about him. At the other side of the wide, low-ceilinged room, beyond a marble topped table, was another bed, bearing the disorientated form of Carter.

“Alan.”

The pilot sat up, wincing as the brightness of the room assaulted his senses.

“Whatever that orange light is,” he groaned, “ it’s nothing but bad news.” He leaned back against the wall behind him and glance at Koenig. Suddenly frowning, he lifted the sheet that covered him and glanced beneath it. “Hey,” he called. “What in space happened to our clothes?”

Koenig glanced down at himself, realising, for the first time, that he was naked. Even his wristwatch had gone. Not only that, but, from the pink glow that suffused his skin, it seemed as though he had literally been scrubbed clean.

“Hell!” complained Carter. “I feel as though I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours in an ultrasonic bath …”

“That may be nearer the truth than you think,” said Koenig, running his fingers through his hair. Carter rubbed the stubble on his chin.

“The least they could have done is given me a shave …” he began.

“You will find clothing on the table between your beds, gentlemen,” interrupted the by-now familiar voice. “Regrettably we were unable to allow you to keep your space suits or those fascinating little commlock devices.”

Carter scowled as he stared at his right hand, clenching and unclenching the fist in an effort to rid it of the annoying pins-and-needles sensation that washed through his body.

Koenig walked to the table. As he approached he noticed a pair of folded garments upon it. Picking one up, it unfolded to reveal itself to be an all-white, almost clinically clean, one-piece coverall of the same, soft synthetic material as the blankets. Without comment, he stepped into it, closing the front, Velcro-type seam.

They were all that was on the table. His feet were bare on the floor. He knelt to examine it. It looked like marble, and felt hard and smooth, but it was slightly warm to the touch of his unclothed skin.

Koenig stood and rubbed impatiently at the bruises on his right arm as Carter discarded the sheet and climbed into his coveralls.

“Do you feel a sort of tingly sensation?” he asked, arcing his back to pull the bends from his spine.

Koenig nodded.

“The last time I felt like this was after a decompression accident I got caught in once,” he said.

“Yes,” agreed Carter. “Like we had little nitrogen bubbles in our bloodstreams …”

“The sensation will soon pass, gentlemen.”

“Look,” called Koenig, angrily. “What in blazes is going on around here? Who the devil are you?!

With a high pitched whine, one wall of their snow-white prison cranked slowly into the ceiling. Beyond it was a large chamber, the walls and floor gleaming bright yellow.

At its center stood a heavy, black-topped table, beyond which a tall figure in a robe the colour of arterial blood waited patiently.

A scarlet-gloved hand beckoned.

“John Koenig,” he called. “Alan Carter. Approach.”

The two Alphans exchanged dubious glances. Koenig, Carter at his side, turned and advanced upon the figure, pausing within reach of the great table.

“Devil, you say, Commander Koenig,” observed the cowled figure. “It is strange indeed that you should invoke such a term, for on your planet I was known by many names. Ra, Apollo, Helios, Quaxalotol.” The alien nodded at Koenig’s horrified face.

“Here,” he said, confidently, “I am known as Astra …”

* * *

“Squad halt!” called Evestregen, lifting his left arm and reining in his seril. He twisted in his saddle to regard the troopers behind him.

“Before us are the forests of Astra,” he said. “You are the temple guard, I am a priest. Our quest is holy and just. Astra smiles upon us all. We seek captives, but be not afraid to kill. Remember your training, and that the unbelievers will not be expecting us so deep in their territory. Above all, remember Astra and the truth he stands for …”

* * *

Etak turned, sitting astride her seril once more. Carole watched as Helena climbed into the cart to sit beside the cot that held Ebron.

“Come on, nurse,” she called, “you’re holding us up!”

“Doctor, if Alan and the Commander are still alive, and if they do find the wreck …”

Helena nodded. “You mean, leave a message?”

“Yes.”

Verdeschi gave Etak’s waist an affectionate squeeze and slid off the seril.

“Hold on, Carole,” he said. “There’s a can of marker dye in the pod.”

He climbed through the hatch. There was a clattering sound as he rummaged about for the dye. He re-emerged, shaking an aluminium canister, the mixing beads rattling noisily. Breaking the seal on its top, he began to spray a row of spidery letters in dayglo-orange paint on the side of the pod.

“Russell, Irwin, Verdeschi,” he read. “Safe – unhurt. Heading …” he paused, turning to look at Helena.

“Where the hell are we heading?” he said. She shrugged her shoulders. He walked towards the larger of the two serils.

“Etak,” he called. “Where’s your camp?”

The girl shook her head in confusion.

“Try ‘Castra’,” suggested Helena.

“Castra?”

Etak’s face brightened.

“Kaster,” she said, pointing. “Kaster da druber.”

“How in space did you know that?” called Verdeschi, in amazement.

Helena shook her head. “I know it sounds crazy,” she said, “but their language is a much modified version of Latin …”

Verdeschi’s eyes widened.

“Latin?” he said, incredulously.

“”Tony,” Called Etak, insistently. “Domo di Astra veh mi. Sumo veh Kaster. Kaster ni peresh. Hi peresh!”

“Do you understand that?”

“Tony,” said Helena, “I said it was like Latin, not that it was Latin. But as far as I can tell she seems to think it’s dangerous here.”

“Okay, Helena,” he nodded, turning to finish his message.

“Heading into sunrise to native camp.”

He stood back to admire his handiwork. Carole took the dye can, adding: 

“P.S. Alan, I love you. Kitten.”

“Kitten?” said Verdeschi.

“Now he’ll know it’s a message from one of us,” she replied quietly. Verdeschi smiled.

“He’s alive, Carole,” he said. “I don’t know how, but I know …”

“Thank you, Tony.”

“Into the cart,” he called, briskly, dropping the can and picking up an aluminised, brief-case sized box. He lifted it over the tailgate of the cart.

“Spare medic pack,” he explained. “We may need it.”

Checking the hold-down clamp over his laser, he ran towards Etak’s seril, mounting it with a good deal more confidence that he had done before.

“Latin, eh?” he said, as she snuggled into his chest, her head against his shoulder. He kissed her neck, uttering one of the few Latin phrases he knew. “Pro bono publico …”

Etak giggled. “Bona,” she agreed. Her toes dug into the backs of the joints of the creature’s massive jaw, and it lumbered slowly into the undergrowth.

The journey to the alien encampment proved to be infinitely more pleasurable for Verdeschi than it was for Helena and Carole. Where they and their inured charge were rocked and buffeted in the unsprung cart, he enjoyed the smooth, rhythmic swaying of the seril, the softness of Etak’s slim waist beneath his hands and the delicious, musky odour of her body.

It was some minutes before he realised that they had stopped moving.

“Tony?”

“Mmm?” he said, lazily.

“Tony, kaster.”

Verdeschi gave a deep, self-satisfied sigh.

“Tell the driver to go round the block again,” he said, nuzzling her neck.

“Ni, Tony,” giggled Etak. “Heh kaster. Peopolo ui de …”

“Etak!”

Verdeschi felt her jump at her name. He leaned back, looking over her shoulder at the tall, fair-haired figure that stood before the seril.

“Skorr!” she yelled, leaping from the back of the beast and running towards him. A pair of well-muscled arms wrapped about her as, mewing welcoming noises, she pressed close to him.

“Etak,” he said, nodding at Verdeschi. “Ke de homono?”

“Es Tony,” she explained, turning to smile at him. “Tony kedo Spivak,” she added proudly.

“Kedo Spivak?” said Skorr, in amazement. “Nettae homono?” Ice burned in his eyes as he contemplated the Alphan.

“Es ni si nettae,” said Etak, eyes narrowing sensuously as she looked towards him. Verdeschi shifted uneasily, clearing his throat as Skorr glared at him. He glanced at Helena.

“What are they talking about?” he called. “Though I’ve a good idea it’s about me.”

“The man, Skorr, wanted to know who you are,” replied Helena, stretching her somewhat limited knowledge of conversational Latin to the limits. “She told him you had killed a Spivak. The next bit was something about him calling you little, and her saying you’re not so little, whatever that means …”

“Uh, yeah,” said Verdeschi. “I think I get the picture …”

“Kedos di Spivak!” snapped Skorr. Alien Latin or not, there was no mistaking the anger in his voice. “Steh heh!”

“Skorr …”

“Etak, ni,” he sad, sharply. “Tony kedo Spivak, oda ony ni kedo Spivak. Tony stat veh hi di Etak oda Skorr kedo Tony. Vestend?”

_Uh-oh,_ thought Verdeschi. _Trust me to pick a girl with a jealous boyfriend …_

“Uh, Skorr,” he began. “Look, I didn’t know she was your …”

“Drang ekterra,” snapped Skorr. “Etak cum mu!”

He pushed the girl aside and and stood forward.

“Leave her alone,” warned Verdeschi, sliding from the back of the seril. Skorr, though only a little taller than the Alphan, was a good deal fitter. Well-developed musculature rippled beneath a tanned skin, and both Verdeschi and the native knew that his knowledge of unarmed combat, gained by years of survival against the priests, would be more than a match for the moonbase-coddled physique of Verdeschi.

“Use your laser, Tony,” urged Helena.

“No,” he replied, suddenly, glancing at Etak as she rounded Skorr and began to walk towards her seril.

Keeping a careful watch on the warrior, Verdeschi backed towards the other cart. They were in a clearing surrounded by what appeared to be a semi-permanent settlement, the buildings an exotic mixture of wooden shelters and tents, hung with bright tapestries and banners. The village had turned out in force to study the newcomers, men, women and children alike staring curiously at the space-suited figures.

Panther-like, Etak resumed her seat astride the seril’s neck.

“Tony es homono,” she said, grandly. “Tony kedo Spivak …”

Skorr looked at him as though he might explode.

“Translation,” hissed Verdeschi. “Quick.”

“Etak seems to be suggesting that you are more of a man than Skorr,” she answered.

Verdeschi unzipped his suit and began to climb out of it.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

He glanced at Helena.

“If Skorr starts a fight I don’t want this thing slowing me down,” he said.

“But you can use the laser …”

“Only as a last resort,” he replied, nodding at Etak. “They may look rough, but they’re very intelligent. And a girl like that is just the type to use something as technologically advanced as a laser to try and wipe out every other tribe on the planet until her’s was in command.” He glanced at Skorr.

“Just keep an eye on the boyfriend,” he said “I’ll take care of myself.”

He turned, and, palms extended peacefully in front of him, advanced upon Skorr.

“Look,” he said, “just say the word and we can patch all this up …”

With an angry growl, Skorr swung a fist into the side of Verdeschi’s face. Shaking the glittering lights from the corners of his mind, Verdeschi rolled onto his back and sat up.

“That,” he said, wiping a stream of blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his left hand,” was not the word.”

“Tony!”

Above Helena’s horrified voice, he heard the drumming of sandaled feet on hard-packed earth. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Skorr set up a powerful kick aimed at the side of his head. He dropped back as it whistled past his nose, kicking sideways to roll beneath the native. He crashed into the man’s other leg and scythed a straight-fingered chop into the side of the knee.

Skorr, giving a howl of less pain and more surprise, thudded to the ground. Verdeschi skittered free and stood up. Skorr was on his feet in an instant, unashamed murder in his eye. Fists balling before him, he advanced at a run. Verdeschi side stepped, planting a chop into the man’s ribcage as he went past. Skorr tumbled across the ground again, as a peal of girlish laughter caught Verdeschi’s attention.

He turned, to see Etak, dissolving with mirth, watching them from her lofty mount.

“Why, you little …” muttered Verdeschi. “Hey, hold it,” he said, rounding on Skorr. “Look, it’s all a game. She started it …”

He could see from the man’s expression that, even if he had understood, he would have chose to ignore the Alphan’s words. Blood was hot, and likely to be spilt in the very near future.

* * *

Skorr came forward, wary this time of the stranger’s trickery. Verdeschi hopped sideways, running a stolen punch between the native’s defending forearms and into his sweat-glistened chest. The fists dropped to counter a feinted blow, that twisted and rapped smartly on the side of his chin. Skorr staggered sideways as Verdeschi recoiled, agonised by the bolt of pain that seared up his arm. The man’s head was like a block of granite, testament to the fact confirmed by the row of skinned knuckles on Verdeschi’s right hand.

The Alphan wiped the cuts, stinging with his own perspiration, on his own shirt and turned to watch Skorr. Shaking his head the warrior danced forward. Verdeschi, confident now that his martial skills could give him more than an even chance against the untutored brute strength of the native, stepped onward to meet him.

But his confidence was a breeding ground for error, and bred it did, with a vengeance. Skorr loosed a brutish, half-hearted swing to his ribs. Verdeschi swept the arm sideways, sorting out his other hand to deliver a chop to his opponents throat. The attacking arm snapped back, letting Verdeschi’s block sail harmlessly out, throwing his balance. Instead of a textbook follow up, his tactics fell apart, taking his defence with them.

Skorr’s left knee swung into his stomach. A rising forearm met his face as it descended and, in a shower of golden sparks, Verdeschi was flung untidily onto his back.

“Tony!” yelled Helena, her right hand pulling at the lockstrap of her laser.

Elnhe’s hand closed over her wrist.

“Ni, physicer. Kamf di Tony. Nu Tony …”

“Dr Russell..?”

Helena glanced at Carole, then Elnhe.

“Tony’s fight? Kampf, I mean kamf di Tony?” she said.

Elnhe nodded.

“Kamf di Tony,” she repeated.

Back in the centre of the clearing, Skorr was standing over Verdeschi. The Alphan sat up and shook his head.

“Look, Can’t we settle this over a drink, or something ..?”

“Cum mu, ekterra drang!” was Skorr’s only reply.

“No, I guess we can’t,” he muttered, licking a cut lip, thoughtfully. He pulled himself to his feet and limped backwards as the native, suddenly assuming gargantuan proportions, closed menacingly.

Verdeschi sought out the other man’s eyes. They met, holding just long enough to form a distrustful rapport between the two men. Suddenly, Verdeschi looked past the native, eyes widening with horror, as if some unholy terror had appeared within their midst.

“Spivak!” he gasped, with such emotion that he almost believed it himself.

Skorr twisted like a cat, had reaching for the butt of the sword that Verdeschi had been praying for him not to use.

The Alphan’s drop-lick landed squarely in the middle of the man’s back, pitching him awkwardly onto his face. The kick had been a beauty, but Verdeschi’s landing left much to be desired, and he rolled painfully onto his side.

“Ugh, my back,” he complained, trying desperately to get to his feet before his opponent. The other man beat him by a fraction of a second. Verdeschi was still on one knee as, with a hiss of triumph, Skorr withdrew his sword from its scabbard and slipped its tip under his throat.

Verdeschi froze. If he was any judge of expression, he could read murder on every fold of the other man’s face.

Stupid trick, he thought. Come all this way to be killed in a fight over a girl by her jealous boyfriend …

Slowly, Skorr’s back straightened, the muscles in his swordarm rippling as he tensed to deliver the killing stroke …


	10. Chapter 10

“Skorr! Cessae!”

The warrior checked, visibly. Maintaining an untrustful glare upon Verdeschi, he relaxed, lowering the swordpoint from the Alphan’s neck. Breathing a deep and relieved sigh of thanks, Verdeschi looked past his erstwhile assassin for the man who had saved him.

“Biorn!” squeaked Etak, leaping from her seril and dancing eagerly towards a tall, distinguished man in grey, scarlet-trimmed coveralls. Her greeting to this man, though not dissimilar to that she gave to Skorr, was, somewho, subtly different. She still embraced him tightly, though, since he stood a good head and shoulders taller than she, had to be content with burying her face in the front of his chest.

The man tilted a tanned, weather-beaten face towards her. The hair, once gold-blond, had begun to thin at the temples, but the eyes still held a warm, youthful glow. “Etak, oh Etak,” he said tiredly, looking at the battered Verdeschi and the frowning Skorr. “Mer homono ui druber kamfe?”

She flashed a toothy smile at him.

“Kau ni, Patri?” she asked. “Streng homono, bona u kamfe ui femona.”

“Veh!” he commanded, in mock anger, slapping her rump as she skittered around him. Laughter still shining brightly in her eyes, she sat, cross legged, some distance behind Biorn as he walked towards Verdeschi and Skorr.

The astronaut got to his feet, patting the dust from his suddenly tatty Alpha uniform.

“Skorr,” said the newcomer, nodding at Etak. “Alda Schlau! Ni kedo ekterra amices.”

Skorr, realising he’d been made a fool of by the mischevious Amazon, glared at her. He shook his head and, turning to Verdeschi, shrugged his broad shoulders. Turning the sword over in his hands, he laid it across his right forearm, the hilt towards Verdeschi. He lifted it towards the man he had almost killed, nodding sheepishly at it.

Carefully, Verdeschi took it. He lifted it before his eyes, suddenly doubly thankful at Biorn’s timely interruption as he noticed the edges along its cutting sides were both scalpel-keen.

Aiming a lop-sided smile at the tall elder, he mimicked Skorr’s actions, presenting the sword to him.

Taking the sword, Biorn rocked with laughter. He slapped Verdeschi on the back like he was a long lost brother, returning Skorr’s sword and breaking out in a torrent of conversation.

“Helena,” called Verdeschi over his shoulder, “help! You’re the linguist of the group, and I don’t know a single word of Latin …”

Smiling, Helena vaulted from the cart and came to stand at his side.

“It’s not all Latin,” she said. “There’s a lot of German in it as well …”

“How are they on Italian?” he suggested.

“Be serious, Tony, she admonished. “It’s still difficult to understand everything they say, but as I get used to the language …”

“What’re they saying?” urged Verdeschi. “And who’s this Biron character?”

“Biron? You mean Biorn …

Elnhe, moving quiet as a shadow, had approached them. Verdeschi jumped as she spoke.

“Biorn,” she said. “Patri di Ebron e Etak. Domo di kaster …”

“Uhuh, that would explain a lot,” said Helena. “Biorn here is the boss of this outfit. And he’s the father if both Etak and our friend Ebron …”

“Ebron?” said Biorn, suddenly.

“Ah!” said Etak, back once more in Skorr’s arms. She broke free and ran towards the cart. “Un vehas, patri,” she called.

Verdeschi watched as the man looked with concern in his eyes at the comatose form in the cart. A brief, clipped exchange passed between him and his daughter, who punctuated her discourse by pointing first at Elnhe, then at Verdeschi.

Biorn was laughing again. He turned and approached the Alphans, placing a massive hand on each of Verdeschi’s shoulders. 

“Ekterra homono ke kedo spivak!” he said, amazement in his eyes. He looked out at the curious mass of people that had turned out to witness the fight. 

His speech was short and to the point, finishing by hammering Verdeschi’s bruised back with enough force to come close to pitching him unceremoniously to the ground.

“We appear to have made some kind of favourable impact,” said Helena. Biorn was speaking again, nodding at a large, multi-coloured tend across the clearing. His voice boomed like a foghorn, and a party of servants appeared and began to walk towards them. Biorn glanced at Helena and, patting Verdeschi on the back once more, spoke to her in warmth and friendship.

He nodded to the Alphans, cupped Etak beneath the chin and turned to march smartly back to his tent. Verdeschi watched him go, a frown on his face.

“Explanations, Helena,” he said, as the servants, mostly female, and dressed in simple, relaxing gowns, gathered around them.

“We’ve been invited to some sort of feast,” said Helena. “They’re welcoming Ebron and his new bride to their tribe …”

“You mean Elnhe?”

She nodded. “Looks like we hit the jackpot there, Tony.”

“Yeah,” answered Verdeschi, watching Etak, arm in arm with Skorr, kiss his cheek as they walked towards Biorn’s tent. “It looks like we have.”

Helena glance uncertainly at him, then at the two natives.

“Uh, yes,” she said, trying to change the subject. “I think I’m beginning to get the hang of this native dialect. All I need is a couple of hours talking to someone to pick up enough vocabulary to get on by …” She paused, frowning. “Tony, are you listening?”

“What?” he said. “Uh, yes. Sure, Helena. Say, is there anyway we can get cleaned up? And I’d like someone to look at my back …”

“I’ll do it, Tony,” said Carole, exchanging glances with Helena.

“As you say, Carole,” agreed Helena, smiling for the benefit of the curious servants who were urging them towards a squat, red and yellow tent erected beside Biorn’s.

Verdeschi nodded politely at a shapely pair of servant girls, allowing them to lead him into a curtained side-chamber.

“Carole,” called Helena.

“Yes, Doctor?” replied the nurse, transferring the medical kit she carried from one hand to the other. Helena nodded after Verdeschi.

“Take care of him, will you?”

“I know how to treat his injuries …”

“I don’t meant that, Carole.” She paused, looking into the youngster’s face. “You saw what happened back there …”

Carole nodded. “Yes. Etak, the little swine …”

“Carole, that’s no way to talk …”

“Yes, but do you see what she’s doing to Tony?”

“Of course I do. That’s why I want you to keep an eye on him. He’s been shaken up as bad as either of us, emotionally as well as physically, perhaps more so.”

“Emotionally?”

“Of course. Alan was a very close friend …”

Carole’s features hardened as she endeavoured to maintain a brave, outwardly unconcerned appearance. “Yes, Dr Russell, I know …”

Helena shook her head.

“Look,” she said. “If you think it’s hard for you to lose Alan, just remember that Tony’s going through the same kind of torment. They’ve been colleagues. A team. Believe me, Carole, they were probably mentally as close to each other as you and Alan were spiritually … “ There was an awkward pause . Helena uttered a deep sigh. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m digging myself in where I’m not wanted …”

“No, it’s all right. You had to say it.” The girl sniffed, painfully. “I loved Alan. Tony was his closest friend. Now we’ve both lost him …” She turned away, hiding the tears that formed at the corners of her eyes.

Helena placed a comforting hand on either of her shoulders.

“Men aren’t supposed to show emotion, Carole,” she said. “They consider it a sign of weakness. They let us fragile females cry for them. Don’t be ashamed to weep. Tony would understand. So would Alan …”

Carole faced her, leaning into her shoulder for comfort.

“Thank you, Helena.”

“That’s what I’m here for, Carole.” She brushed a teardrop from the girl’s cheek, then nodded and smiled, gently.

“Here,” she said, softly. “Get cleaned up and take care of Tony for me. And remember, just because he doesn’t show emotion doesn’t mean he can’t feel it.”

Carole nodded.

“I’ll remember, Doctor,” she said. “Oh, I bet I look a mess …”

“You look fine,” assured Helena. “Go and see to Tony before he seduces half of Biorn’s maidservants.”

Carole glanced at the curtain before the chamber into which the two girls had taken Verdeschi.

“Uh, yes,” she said, nervously. “You sure he might just do that?”

Helena shrugged her shoulders.

“There’s no telling what a man spurned by a pretty girl will do,” she warned, ominously.

They smiled at each other, Helena more for her benefit than for Carole’s. She watched the nurse pick up the medkit and push through the curtains into the other chamber.

_Sure,_ she thought. _Maybe Tony can hide his emotions, but he’s a rank amateur when it comes to comparing with thick-skinned senior medical officers pining for missing Moonbase Commanders …_

* * *

Carole was more than a little relieved to see that the two maidservants were still as sully dressed as they were likely to get, although Verdeschi had divested himself of his shirt and was sitting, frowning at the cuts and bruises that had appeared on his chest.

He looked up as she entered.

“Oh, hi, Kitten,” he said automatically. He paused as she saw her glance towards the floor. “I’m sorry, Alan called you that, didn’t he?”

“It’s all right,” she replied in a tiny voice. He put her hand under her chin, lifting her head to look into her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Carole. Really I am. I didn’t mean to hurt you …”

She inhaled, stilling the tremble in her lower lip.

“Helena wanted me to see if you were all right …” she began.

“I’ll be fine,” he replied. “Just give me something for these cuts …”

“Helena told me about you and Alan being friends.”

There was a pause. Verdeschi looked into her face.

“You mean Helena suggested that Alan and I were both …”

Her eyes widened. “No, no. Nothing like that, of course not.” She paused, looking sideways at him. “You’re not, are you?” she added, quietly.

Verdeschi burst out laughing, his head rocking back as he did so.

“No way, Carole,” he said. “Not after all the girlfriends we’ve been through.” He sat in the end of the chamber’s single, wide bed, tears of laughter rolling down his cheeks. Carole, an embarrassed expression on her face, set the medikit down on a table in front of it and sat beside it.

“Alan, old buddy,” said Verdeschi, looking up into the roof of the tent. “If only you could hear what this girl of yours is trying to suggest …”

“But you were friends,” reminded Carole.

He paused, suddenly aware that he had been laughing perhaps a little too loudly.

“Carole,” he explained, leaning forward. “Alan and I were … are astronauts. It’s just about the only really dangerous job to be in there is these days. Those hunks of tin we fly are pretty phenomenal little beasts, but when things go wrong they really go wrong. Everytime a crew runs up an Eagle for a mission they sign their lives over to each other. Main Mission understands, so do the top spanner jockeys in maintenance, but outside of these few people, nobody realises just how close a pilot has to get with his buddies.” He took her right hand in his left, engulfing it with his right. “When I’m in a hot Eagle I want someone like Alan in the port seat I can trust not to start pulling pins left, right and centre and spreading the ship across space like so much tinfoil. Okay?”

She nodded, silently.

“Good,” he added, squeezing her hand in comfort.

“Thank you, Tony. I didn’t know Alan long, but …”

“I’ve known him, oh, must be five years, now.” Verdeschi nodded at the curtain. “Helena has known John Koenig far longer than that …”

“Helena …” whispered Carole. “Of course, the Commander.” She shook her head. “Oh, tony,” she sighed, “I’ve been tearing myself apart worrying over Alan. I just didn’t realise that you had your own grief to bear, both of you …”

“It’s easy to forget other people’s problems when you’ve enough of your own to worry about, isn’t it?”

“I’ve been very selfish …”

“No, Carole. It’s part of being human, that’s all …”

Her head sank onto her chest.

“Carole? Come on, it’ll be all right now …”

“I feel such a heel,” she sniffed. “You talking to me like this after Etak …” She glanced sharply into his face, realising what she was saying. “I … I mean …”

“Etak?”

“Uh, yes. We saw, Helena and I, what she did to you …”

“Tchah! That was nothing,” he said, quickly. “She’s just a kid playing at being a woman.”

Carole frowned at him.

“Really?”

“Yes, of course.” He studied her confused expression. “Did Helena ask you ..? I mean, is she worried about me?”

Carole looked at the back of his right hand, and the livid, salt-irritated cuts on his knuckles.

“We both are,” she said.

“Oh Carole, Carole. Of all the beautiful, silly, human …” He lifted her face and looked into her eyes again. “Go back to Helena,” he said. “Tell her I’ll be fine as long as you two are. Look, I’m supposed to be the male protector of this little group. Ask Helena, she’s the sociologist …”

“You’re the buck who’s fending off the wolves from defenceless does?”

He grinned. “That’s about it,” he said. “Now, are you going to take a look at these cuts or do I slowly bleed to death on Biorn’s fine carpets?”

She searched busily through the medikit, thankful for something to do with herself at least.

“Hey, Carole,” he called, leaning back against the pile of cushions at the head of the great bed. She looked up at him, a wad of bandage packs in one hand and a rack of antibiotic phials in the other.

“Yes, Tony?”

“If I ever do decide to assume the true role of pack lead-male, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather start my harem with than you and Helena …”

Her mouth opened in amazement, then closed again.

“Why, of all the male, chauvinistic …” she began, advancing upon him, loading a hypo with all the menace of a hired assassin.

“Here,” he warned, “careful, or I’ll have you thrown to the wolves …”

* * *

The trooper threw a salute to Evestragen and leaned forward over the crude map the priest had spread over the boulder before him.

“We found a camp,” he said, tapping at the parchment with a stubby forefinger. “Two, maybe three hundred unbelievers. Mainly tents, in a double ring about a large clearing, some hundred paces across by almost two hundred long.”

“Weapons?”

“Usual swords, a few spears, all home-made. A few longbows.”

“Not an armed camp?”

The soldier shook his head. “No, sir. Mostly women and children. Some oldsters, but not many. What young men there are seem content with running around preparing for some feast or celebration …”

“Celebration?”

The soldier shrugged his shoulders.

“Unless,” he suggested, “it had something to with the visitation from Astra …”

Evestragen recoiled, horror on his face that he sought to control warning the troopers about him that something was indeed amiss.

“What do you know about the visitation?”

The soldier was visibly taken aback. “It destroyed a temple, sir,” he replied. “And the girl that was freed is now in the camp …”

“Elnhe?”

“Yes, sir. And Ebron …”

Evestragen smiled, grimly. “You saw them?”

“I saw Elnhe. And that sister of Ebron …”

“Etak? The man teaser?”

“Sir?”

The priest nodded. “I have heard stories about the girl, stories from both Ebron and those that knew here before she went unbeliever.”

The soldier looked sideways at his superior.

“Stories?” he said, doubtfully.

“Yes. She leads her men friends on, promising herself to them, then …”

“Then?”

“Then nothing. That is,” he added, “if the tales that are told about her are anything to go by.”

“Then …” began the trooper, slowly beginning to see what the priest was suggesting.

“Then, if the delectable little Etak has remained true to form, we have our offering to Astra, ripe, if you concede the phrase, for the taking …”

The face of the trooper twisted with a cunning grin.

“You’ll have her, oh priest,” he promised. “By my sword and my finest seril, you shall have her.”

Evestragen nodded.

“Good,” he said, folding the map. “Tell the others to stand down. We wait here until nightfall. In the time it takes us to get to the encampment, the unbelievers will have eaten and drunk themselves into a blind stupor. We’ll walk through that camp and take whatever, or whoever we want …”

* * *

Etak spun before the mirror held by her handmaiden, examining the golden mist of material as it swirled about her. She re-tied the thong that gathered it about her waist, pushing it low on her hip. She shook her mane of bronze-brown hair and arched an eyebrow at her other self beyind the surface of the mirror.

“Exquisite, my daughter,” said a rich voice.

A perfect pirouette collapsed as she started at the sound.

“Oh, Biorn!” she gasped. “You surprised me!”

“Etak,” he said, frowning,” you are no longer in your killing clothes. You are in a woman’s finery, in my tent. Now, remember what we agreed.”

“I’m sorry, my father.”

“That’s better,” he smiled. “Well, I suppose I can let you forget this once. A girl as beautiful as you are tonight may be allowed one small mistake.”

“Oh, father,” she scolded, standing on her toes to kiss him.

He nodded. “I swear,” he observed. “Indeed, you grow more beautiful every day. As beautiful even as your mother before you.”

She glanced at the mirror again, parting the side of the gown to expose a generous slice of leg.

“Oh, it’s all right, I suppose,” she agreed.

Biorn frowned.

“There you go again, Etak,” he said. “One of these days this flirting of yours will get you into real trouble. You really made Skorr angry, this time.”

“Skorr knows all about me,” she said. “He can have the pick of the camp. He only chases after me because I’m your daughter.” She picked up a twist of gold chain and slid it onto one wrist. “Besides …” she added.

“Besides, it’s good for the men to fight over their women,” he continued, repeating her oft voiced thought. “Yes, Skorr knows all about you, and he should know better. But that young man you found in the forest …”

“Tony? Yes, he’s quite pretty, when you think about it …”

“Etak, be serious for a moment.”

Frowning, she looked at him.

“Father? I … don’t understand …”

“This stranger, Tony. He doesn’t know about you. He is intelligent, extremely so. And there is something about these people that I do not understand …”

“What do you mean?”

“Look at their clothing. Strange, yes, but it is more than that. The artefacts they carry, that metal box. Incredible workmanship.”

“They speak a strange tongue …”

“Not so strange. The female …”

“Which one?”

“Oh, the taller one. The one who seems to translate for the others.”

“Helena.”

“Yes, Helena. I get the impression that she has never heard our language before, but at the same time, she knows it …”

“What kind of comment is that?”

Biorn shook his head.

“I don’t know, Etak. But they are a mystery.” He walked across the room. “You said you found them beside a strange metal building?”

“Yes. It looked as though some beast had attacked it.”

“A metal building?”

“Well, I don’t know how strong metal buildings should be, I’m no engineer …”

“You know how strong a sword is …”

“A sword is hardly a building,” she answered, crossly.

“All right,” he sighed. “But, Etak, please, until we know who these people are, be careful.”

“All right, father.”

“And, for goodness sake, leave that poor man alone …”

“Oh, father …”

“Etak, I mean it. Until he realises that you only lead him on for your sport, don’t do it.”

“You take all the fun out of it …”

“I don’t care. We don’t know what kind of ordeals these people have been through. He was injured before Skoor had his fight with him, and, like us, he may well have lost loved ones or friends, and recently.”

He glanced at his daughter.

“What is it, my child?”

“What you said about not knowing who these people are …”

“Yes?”

“Did Elnhe tell you how Tony killed the spivak?”

He shook his head. “No. I assumed a sword …”

“He burned it. I saw the body. A hole burned into its chest.”

“A novel method …” began Biorn.

“He burned it. With a beam of light.”

“A what?”

Etak tilted her head back, looking into her father’s amazed face.

“From a distance,” she added, mysteriously. “Of about a hundred paces …”

Biorn frowned.

“Most interesting,” he said, slowly. “I do believe these strange new friends of yours would bear further study. “But,” he added sharply, “remember they are still friends. They saved not only my son’s life, but the life of his bride to be.”

He smiled, the solemnity of the occasion dissolving like mist vapourised by the morning sun.

“Come, Etak. Tonight we celebrate. Tomorrow we talk with the strangers.”

She smiled with him,

“Certainly, father,” she said, gliding forward to the door curtain of her living quarters. “You know, I rather like this Tony …”

“Because he can kill spivaks with beams of light?”

She looked thoughtfully at him. “Perhaps, at first,” she replied, “but now …”

“Etak,” he said, draping a well-muscled arm about her shoulders. “You once told me that the day you saw the one you truly loved, you would know immediately, and that he would be the one you would give uourself to. Body and soul.”

She threw him a nervous little smile.

“Yes, father. That is why …”

“That is why you spend your waking moments teasing every man who gives you a second look, promising everything, yet giving nothing.”

She supplanted the smile with a defiant frown.

“And that is the way it will stay as long as there are pig-headed, muscle-bound, egocentric males like you on the planet, father.”

Biorn smiled.

“Just like your mother,” he said, walking through the curtain and into the clearing. “Just like your mother …”

* * *

Carole’s eyes widened as she saw the feast laid out in Biorn’s great tent. Fruit, meat, bread, wine. A host of tempting sweetmeats and alien delicacies covered every inch of a great curved table, set about by low cushioned couches. At the center of the ring, a huge, log burning fire crackled and hissed to itself.

“Impressive,” observed Helena, behind her.

Carole jumped.

“Oh, you frightened me,” she said turning to look at the doctor.

Helena nodded at the new, totally feminine dress she was wearing.

“I see the maidservants showed you their stock of evening gowns, too,” she said.

Carole smiled. "Yes, aren’t they beautiful? Not very practical, but it feels strange to be wearing something that reminds me I’m a little more than a man who’s the wrong shape to fit an Alpha uniform.”

Helena nodded, checking the lie of a gilded tie-cord on her hip.

“Yes,” she agreed. “It’s a change to look like a woman once in a while …”

She frowned.

“Where’s Tony?”

“In his room, I think. I’ve spent all afternoon trying to talk to these maidservants, but I keep getting lost …”

“Give it a week and you’ll be talking like a native,” assured Helena. She looked about her. “I’m going to see if I can find Tony,” she added.

His arrival saved her the trip. Carole walked forward to greet him, a happy smile on her face.

“Hello, Tony. Isn’t this beautiful ...?”

“What?” He seemed surprised to see her. A hint of a smile turned the corners of his mouth. “Oh, hello Carole.” Something seemed to snap him out of his reverie. “Hey, that’s great,” he said, smiling. “You, too, Helena. Yes, it’s really quite beautiful.”

“The maidservants gave them too us,” replied Helena, looking at him, carefully.

“Uh, yes,” he said. “I’ve got a whole mass of stuff in my tent. I picked this because it wasn’t too gaudy.”

Helena glanced at the simple, tunic-style garment he was wearing. It was so like his Alpha uniform that she hadn’t at first noticed that it wasn’t.

“Something wrong, Tony?”

“No,” he answered. “Should there be?”

She shook her head. “No, nothing. Come on, I think I’ve learned enough vocabulary to get through tonight.” She glanced at Verdeschi. “I had a visit from Etak,” she said.

“Oh,” he replied, with about as much emotion as a mechanic tightening the hundred-and-thirtieth locktag of a two-hundred and sixty tag-inspection plate.

“Yes,” she continued, bravely, “she wanted to …”

“Helena. Carole. Tony. Felick. Felik di Biorn do sui. Stak sui cum.” Biorn appeared, motioning them towards the centre of the curving table. They sat as the hall began to fill with guests.

Helena watched Verdeschi closely. The only change in his subdued, almost bored countenance came when Etak, a vision in gold dancing in the flickering red light from the fire, walked into the chamber through the outer door-curtain.

Verdeschi’s eyes glowed with happiness as she crossed the room, his mouth open in a wide, uncomplicated smile.

But the frown of disappointment that flooded his features as the girl sat amongst a trio of young males opposite him cut into her heart as she knew it must be tearing savagely into his. She was vaguely aware of Biorn speaking to her. She turned, forcing a diplomatic smile onto her face.

“Yo, Biorn,” she began. “Sumo di vehe, vehe kaster …”

Verdeschi studied Etak through the flames of the fire. As he watched her laugh and talk with the others, her words spoke again in his mind.

_“Etak ni kedo Tony. Etak aman Tony …_ ”

“Tony?”

Helena’s insistent whisper roused him from his thoughts.

“Uh, yes? What is it?””

“You haven’t touched a thing. Is there something wrong?”

“No,” he answered. “I, er … I’m just tired, that’s all.” He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Suddenly he spoke.

“Helena.”

“Yes, Tony.”

“I’m sorry. Can you explain to Biorn? I … uh … I just need some sleep. I’ll be okay.”

Helena looked into his face, nodding wisely.

“Sure, Tony. I understand. Get some rest. I’ll take care of Biorn for you.”

He gave her a tired, but sincere smile.

“Thanks, Helena. I’ll be all right in the morning.”

He stood and, bowing to Biorn, walked from the tent. Beyond the log fire, Etak watched him leave, a puzzled frown on her face. An arm about her waist, and a moist, intoxicated kiss on her neck diverted her attention momentarily, and when she turned to look once more, Verdeschi had gone.

She turned back to her meal, the frown on her face deepening. As she did so, her father’s words echoed strongly in her soul:

_“…the day you saw the one you truly loved, you would know immediately …”_

 


	11. Chapter 11

The knife entered below the fifth rib, angled upwards to slice into the man’s heart. He was unconscious before he hit the ground, and dead within thirty seconds. Wiping the blade on a scrap of grass, the trooper slipped the dagger into its sheath. Eyes bright behind the faceplate of his helm, he glanced at the priest as he rounded the tree that had hidden him.

“Good,” he whispered. "The camp is ours.”

“Do we go in, now?”

“Don’t be so impatient, trooper,” he replied. “Give them a while to soak up a little more alcohol.” He gave a thin smile to the soldier. “I enjoy a good fight as much as the next man, but it’s business we’re on tonight, not sport.” He glanced into the dim greenery behind him. “Remind the others. We’re after prisoners tonight, not an excuse for bloodletting.”

The black-armoured figure nodded.

“Yes, sir. You’ll get your sacrifices if I have to inspect every female in the camp …”

“Yes, sergeant,” observed Evestregen, drily. “I daresay you would …”

* * *

Verdeschi left the tent at a brisk walk. Something bright in the sky caught his eye. He paused to look at it, wondering if it could possibly be good old Luna.

He pulled a wry grimace. _Hardly,_ he thought. The moon wouldn’t be visible for weeks yet, if at all before the Eagles came within range. He could almost see Eagle One, her red-striped passenger module reflecting the powerful glow of her lift engines, sailing majestically over the treetops towards the camp.

_Downblast might flatten these tents, though,_ he realised …

_That’s odd. Why do the stars look so bright?_ He shrugged his shoulders. _How do I know how bright a star should look? All these years on a perfect astronomical observatory like the moon and the only stars I’ve seen have been through a navigational display._

_Still, it is a very beautiful night._

_Ah, what the hell. All I really need is sleep._

_All? Well, perhaps one other thing …_

He shivered. Cold night air, crystal clear sky. _It’s gonna freeze like hell tomorrow morning …_

He entered his tent. At least it was warm and the bed was soft and inviting. There was even a metal dish of water with a candle beneath it to keep it hot, and clean towels, and perfumed soap …

_Well, perhaps we could go easy on the soap,_ he thought, looking at it and curling his nose dubiously at its aroma. It would not do for an astronaut to wander about the camp smelling like a Sydney cat-house, no matter what alien planet he was marooned on.

He pulled his shirt from his head and lowered himself stiffly onto the bed. He leaned tiredly back against the mound of sweetly scented pillows at the head of the bed, closing his eyes and squeezing the bridge of his nose, in an unsuccessful attempt to rid it of the ache that lodged there.

Etak’s image, her lips, red and full, smiling at him, floated before him.

Angrily he screwed the shirt into a tight ball and threw it across the bedchamber.

“Leave me alone, goddammit!!” he yelled, pausing with a sudden intake of breath as he saw it rebound from the slender, silk-clad legs of the surprised girl who had at that moment chosen to enter the room.

“Tony?” she said, a puzzled frown on her face.

“Uh … Etak? What the hell...?”

“Food, Tony,” she said, in halting, lisping accent. “You not eat …”

“I don’t want anything to eat,” he said, coldly. Evidently, Etak was not to be discouraged so easily. She continued to walk forward, hands outstretched before her, a bowl of fruit extended like some peace offering towards him.

“Eat,” she implored, in a pathetic little voice. “For mui … me. For me …”

Purely out of self defense, he took a piece of fruit. He looked at it. It was the wrong colour, but there was no mistaking the type.

“Apple,” he noted, darkly. “Eve strikes again …”

“Eve?” she said, frowning again. “Ni vestend Eve …”

“Get out of here,” he snapped. “Leave me alone …”

“Tony?”

He avoided her eyes, and the lost, plaintive expression her face bore. She sat on the bed beside him, placing a warm, dry hand on his chest.

“Tony?”

Her other hand closed on his, lifting it to stroke his cheek. Slowly, as if to hurry would shatter some magical spell, she lowered the hand to her shoulder, slipping it beneath the folds of her gown. She guided the hand deeper, towards the soft sweep of her throat, towards the gentle curve of her breasts …

“Leave me alone, dammit!” he yelled, pulling free and standing away from her. “Haven’t you had enough fun with me for one day?”

“Tony ..?”

Get out of here. Back to those halfwit boyfriends of yours.” He turned his back on her, leaning angrily against a ridge-pole.

“T..Tony …” she whispered, tears glistening in her eyes. “Es ni … not like … before …”

“Go,” he repeated. “Get out of here and leave me in peace.”

With an agonised sob, she ran from the bedchamber, scattering the food she had brought about her. Verdeschi spun, realising what an idiot he was being.

“Etak, no. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean …”

He froze, watching the door-curtain drift shut behind her. He closed his eyes and slumped, wretchedly, on the end of the bed. 

“Oh, Christ,” he muttered. “Now what the hell have I done …?”

* * *

Evestregen stiffened as he saw Etak run from the tent.

“In the name of Astra,” he gasped.

The trooper at his side frowned. “Sir?”

“That girl. It’s Etak,” he said, pointing as her. Hde stood, drawing his sword. “On your feet,” he called, “we have our sacrifice!”

Etak turned, a scream on her lips as she saw the row of ebony figures burst from the undergrowth.

“Silence her, you idiot, before she wakes the camp,” snapped the preist, running towards Biorn’s tent.

Verdeschi’s head lifted at her cry.

“Etak?” he whispered. “Etak!?” he called, flinging himself across the bed to rummage beneath his discarded Alpha uniform for the laser. He burst from his tent, in time to see a thing straight from the bowels of hell itself smash the butt of a sword across the girl’s chin. As she collapsed, he lifted and aimed the laser. There was a whining crack, and the trooper acquired a shimmering cloak of light. As the glow dispersed, he dropped beside his victim.

“Etak!” screamed the Alphan, running forward. A hiss of steel scything through still air warned him of the soldier’s presence. He skittered sideways, coming close to losing the hand that held the laser. He swung the weapon, feeling it crumple as it slammed into the front of the man’s faceplate.

The laser disintegrated in a shower of sparks, searing the backs of his fingers. Ignoring the pain that lit through his arm, he leaped over the writhing soldier and ran towards the ominously still form of the girl who had so recently offered her body to him.

He knelt beside her. Behind him, Biorn’s tent collapsed as Evestragen sliced through the guy ropes that supported it. Fabric began to burn, lighting clearing with an infernal glimmer.

A voice he seemed to recognise as being that of Helena called to him.

“Tony, behind you …”

Something hard and damp went into the back of his neck, pitching him in a cascade of coloured stars over Etak. A heavy gauntlet pulled him from her and, in the descending mists of unconsciousness, he saw the triumphant face of the alien warrior as it lifted Etak’s inert form onto its shoulders.

Verdeschi rolled onto his side, nausea rising in his throat, seeing the camp burn and its occupants die. The alien world spinning in confusion about him, and moments before he found merciful oblivion, he saw a pair of troopers drag a white-clad girl from the remains of the great tent and vanish into the eager clutches of the night-bred forest beyond …

* * *

“Please, gentlemen. Be seated.” The creature that called itself Astra motioned towards a triad of stylised, throne-like chairs beyond the table. “We wish your stay here to be a relaxing and peaceful one.”

Carter glanced at the chairs as Koenig glared mistrustfully at the cowled figure. Astra walked to the centre of the three chairs, his hands extended before him indicating two of them. Without comment, the Alphans assumed their seats.

“It is rare,” the alien was saying, “that I get the chance to indulge in conversation with an intelligent life form these days …”

“Cut the backchat, Astra, of whatever your name is. What’s this all about?”

“All in good time, Commander Koenig.”

“You keep saying that,” broke in Carter, angrily. “Who in creation are you?”

Astra gave a patient sigh.

“My dear Carter,” he said, quietly. “I am creation. At least, as far as this wretched ball of rock is, I am.”

“Astra,” mused Koenig, setting out on a different tack. “I’ve heard that word before …”

“Latin for ‘star’, Commander,” commented Carter.

“How perceptive,” noted the alien.

“Yes, but apart from that …”

“’Per Ardua ad Astra’,” quoted Carter. “It’s the motto of the old Royal Air Force. ‘Through adversity to the stars …’”

“Rather apt, is it not, Commander?”

Koenig shifted uneasily. The man’s manner was beginning to annoy him intensely, but, since at the moment he had the upper hand, there was little to do but sit back and endure it.

“These names you mentioned,” said Koenig, slowly.

“Helios, Apollo, Ra, Hyperion ..?”

“Yes,” nodded Koenig, before the man could run through the lists of all the ancient and classical gods, “you’re not seriously asking us to believe that you are, or were all these gods?”

“It dependa upon your point of view, Commander. On a point of interpretation. It is true, I am not, as such, a god. Not in your literal definition of the term. I am not immortal – almost, but not quite. I am extremely powerful, but not omnipotent. I cannot suspend natural laws. Bend them a little, perhaps, but not break them entirely.”

“Then who are you?”

“I am a scientist.”

“And this planet?”

“My laboratory. Or rather, my experimental apparatus. Just like Earth, your Earth, was in its time.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Astra seemed displeased. He glared at the pilot.

“Hell, Captain Carter? What do you know about hell? Your kind destroyed the last experiment, you created your own hell for yourselves.”

“What’s this about an experiment?” called Koenig. “What kind of experiment?”

“An experiment in life. In survival. A sophisticated sociological investigation into the workings of the creature you so wittly call ‘homo sapiens.’” Astra sneered. “’Thinking man’ indeed, Commander. Now who do you think you are trying to fool?”

Koenig frowned, his mind racing in thought.

“You are causing everything to happen here. You’re manipulating the society of whatever is the dominant lifeform …”

“Bravo, Commander. Excellent. I congratulate you on your powers of deduction.”

“Hey, wait a minute,” broke in in Carter. “What you said about Earth, all those thousands of years ago …”

“As I said, an experiment that failed. I abandoned the apparatus and moved elsewhere …”

“To here,” said Koenig. “Leave the white rats to their own devices and set up afresh …”

“Precisely, Commander.”

“And the experiment survived to run itself after its scientific advisor had abandoned it?”

“Evidently, Commander, since you are now here.”

“How did the experiment fail?”

Astra sat back in his chair, as if about to deliver a thesis to some learned gathering.

“The principle mode of influence upon the experimental subjects broke down,” he said, loftily.

“Meaning?” asked Koenig, pointedly.

“Meaning I lost control over the people to a different force.”

“How different? Another god?”

“I never considered myself as a god, therefore how could I lose control to another god …”

“Doubletalk,” snapped Carter, suddenly.

Astra started, exhaling slowly, calmly. Koenig glanced at his senior pilot, then back to the alien.

“How did you control the people?” he said.

“Through their religion,” he replied, softly.

“Commander, did you notice the names? Hyperion, Apollo, Helios …”

“Of course,” said Koenig. “all sun gods. And Astra, or star, is just another name for a sun …”

“Sun worship, Commander Koenig,” added Astra. “The people have a powerful, ever present, almost tangible deity to look to and adore …”

“Or fear,” said Koenig. “And offer sacrifices to.” He glowered at Astra. “Sun worship is about the most cruel form you can get,” he challenged. “And so repressive to the sciences you keep society in the stone age for centuries …”

“That is the point, Commander,” replied Astra, tiredly. “Where science has a free rein, developing at its own speed, society falls further and further behind. A civilisation may be in its nuclear age in scientific advancement, yet, mentally, be lumbering about with the faculties of medieval times. Here I am, holding back the scientific progress of the society until it is mentally mature enough to use it …”

Koenig watched alien, mounting disbelief and horror on his face.

“You’re deliberately stunting the development of a planet full of people just to prove a crazy, half-baked theory ..?”

“It is not crazy, Commander, nor is it half-baked. I have devoted thousands of years of my not inconsiderable lifespan to pursue this to its logical conclusion …”

“And how many plants have you ruined doing so?”

“Ruined? Look at yourselves. You brought the ruin onto your own heads …”

Koeniog considered the comment thoughtfully.

“How long ago did you abandon the Earth project?”

Astra scowled. “Two thousand terran years, almost to the day,” he said, grudgingly. “With an alien interloper interfering with my work by preaching such utter nonsense that the scientists, long since banished to the realms of the unholy, had freedom to demonstrate just what a fool he was.”

“Two thousand years,” said Carter, significantly.

“Yes. Destroyed my religion, then allowed his own to be torn apart by the unbelieving mob.” He leaned forward. “Religion is power,” he called. “Get the people to believe in one tiny phenomenon that you can control or manipulate, and you can move mountains – planets, even. I know. I have done it.”

“Until someone comes along to upset your applecart …” said Koenig.

“A saviour for the people,” suggested Carter.

“To do what? Plunge the planet into hundreds of years of barbarism. War, pestilence. Men at each other’s throats. Homo Bello: Man of War. That’s all you are good for, insects squabbling over the carcasse of what was once a green and fertile planet.”

“We didn’t do too badly,” challenged Koenig, beginning to feel his anger gaining control. “ We’ve survived these past two thousand years …”

“Have you, Commander? Correct me if I’m wrong, but are you not prisoners of your own technology? On a ball of cinder thrown from your home planet as a direct result of you meddling in a science you were incapable of handling?”

“It was a mistake,” growled Koenig. “Man always makes mistakes, it’s what makes him human …”

“Yes. Your history is littered with mistakes, isn’t it, Commander?” Astra rested his elbows on the arms of his chair, lacing the gloved fingers together in front of him. “Battles on every continent. Arguments over territory. Europe. Asia. The Americas.” He looked between the two humans. “Two world wars, gentlemen. Now, I can appreciate one in a century, but two? And in the first fifty years? Is this indicative of an intelligent species, my friends? No, John Koenig and Alan Carter, it is not.”

“You had wars before you abandoned Earth,” challenged Carter.

“Certainly. But I never tolerated anything so barbaric as that which you yourselves created.” He leaned back in the chair again. “A hundred and fifty four days,” he said quietly. That is all. One hundred and fifty-four days of total peace throughout the world since the abandonment of the experiment. On every other day of those two thousand years, man has killed his fellow man. Human sport, gentlemen. Waging war upon his brothers …”

Astra contemplated his audience. Carter was frowning at Koenig. The Commander was merely frowning.

“Forgive me, gentlemen,” said the alien suddenly. “I have business to attend to. I shall return soon, but in the meantime I suggest you consider very carefully this conversation. Until we meet again, John Koenig and Alan Carter …”

The orange light blazed about him. As its brilliance died, he was gone, his empty chair mute testament to his presence …

* * *

“…Helena. Mense Tony stet u canacio …”

Helena? Who ..?

“Yes, Elnhe, thank you. I’ll look after him now …”

“Uh, Helena? Etak? Anybody …”

“All right, Tony. It’s okay. You’ve had a bump on the head …”

Verdeschi blinked the blurring from his eyes, focusing, with not a little difficulty, onto Helena’s concerned face.

“Tony ...?”

“Here, I think,” he groaned. “Who hit me?”

She patted at his bruised face with a cold, damp cloth.

“The camp was attacked,” she replied. “Biorn thinks about twenty of the priests’ soldiers.”

“Just the thing to make the party go down a treat,” he muttered, lifting his hands to discover that the right was heavily swathed in bandages. “What happened here?”

“Cuts and burns,” she said, peering at a hypo. “Your laser blew when you hit a soldier with it.”

“Uh, yeah,” he said, fragments of memory of the fight returning to his confused mind. He jumped as the hypo fired into his arm.

“Just a minute,” he said, suddenly, trying to sit up. “Etak. Anybody see what happened to Etak …”

Helena glanced past him at someone standing at the opposite side of his bed. 

“She’s been kidnapped, Tony,” she said quietly, pushing him back against the pillows beneath him.

“Kidnapped!?” He tried to sit up again, his right arm collapsing beneath him as a red-hot shaft of pain drove through his shoulder.

“Is she hurt? Do you know if she’s been harmed? Who are these priests, anyway?”

“As far as I can work out, Biorn and his camp are all outsiders, from a city-dwelling civilisation that worships a sun god …”

“Sun god?”

She nodded. “Biorn and his people have split from the others because of this worship, and the ceremonies they perform.”

Verdeschi felt a cold lump in the pit of his stomach.

“What kind of ceremonies?” he said.

Helena exhaled, licking her lips.

“Human sacrifice …”

“Oh, my god,” he breathed. “And Etak?”

“has been taken to be a victim in the next ceremony.”

“How do you know this? Did Biorn tell you?”

“Not in so many words, but, yes, he did tell me.” She looked away from him, making a pretence of searching through the medikit. “It’s not the only thing he told me …”

“What? About Etak?”

“Yes, Tony,” she answered. “And you.”

“Me?”

“She told him that she would offer herself to the first man that she truly loved …”

“She ..?” He closed his eyes, sorrowfully. “Oh, no,” he whispered. “Oh, Helena, that explains this evening …”

“What, this evening?”

“After I left the feasting. She … she came to my tent …” He shook his head. “I threw her out. I thought she was trying her old tricks again …”

“Ni alte schlau?”

Verdeschi opened his eyes, to see Biorn stand forward into his field of view.

“No,” answered Helena. “Not her old tricks.”

Wearily, Biorn wiped a hand across his face. Bringing as much as he could of the limited vocabulary that Helena had taught him to bear, he spoke to the Alphan on the bed.

“Tony. Etak is to you. Etak wants you …” He looked to Helena for help. “Love? Etak love Tony?”

Helena nodded. “I think she means it this time, Tony,” she admitted.

“Why Etak?” he said. “Why take her?”

Helena avoided his questioning expression.

“Why Etak?” he repeated, raising his voice. “What’s so special about her?”

“The ceremonies call for virgin sacrifices,” she answered, abruptly.

“Oh, god.” He glanced at Biorn. “If I’d let her stay with me she’d not only have kept out of the attack, but …” He shook his head. “Biorn, I didn’t understand. I …” He looked up into Helena’s face. “Can you explain? Tell him I didn’t know …”

“Vestend, Tony,” Biorn said kindly. “I understand … vestend.”

“You stopped them taking many more prisoners, Tony. He thanks you for your bravery …”

“Many more? How many? Is Elnhe all right?”

“Yes, she … she makes a very good nurse. She’s been sitting with you while you were unconscious …”

“There’s something wrong,” he said, darkly. “What is it, Helena?”

“It’s Carole, Tony.”

“Carole?” he frowned. “What about her?”

He looked into Biorn’s grave features, then at Helena’s agonised face.

“What about Carole?” he repeated. “Is she hurt?”

“Worse than that, Tony.”

“Worse ..?”

“She has been taken,” she said, hoarsely. “With Etak to be offered in sacrifice to the sun god, Astra …”


	12. Chapter 12

Koenig’s eyes narrowed in concentration as he stared, coldly, at the empty throne.

“So that’s Astra,” he said slowly, glancing at Carter. “Any opinions?”

“I don’t know, Commander,” he replied, shaking his head. “I don’t get to meet that many gods in this line of business.”

Koenig gave him a grim smile.

“I don’t think you have now, either,” he said, standing and walking towards the other chair.

“Could he be right about Earth?” said Carter. “Are we really just the survivors of an experiment that went wrong?”

Koenig shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t know,” he replied, turning to study the room about him. “But whatever he is, he’s powerful, and he knows it. He may talk like a madman, but there’s no doubt that he does have some very sophisticated gadgetry at his disposal.”

“You think he is crazy?”

“Not entirely. There is a kind of offbeat logic in what he says, and he is right about us creating the conditions that led to Breakaway …”

“But?”

Koenig frowned, thoughtfully.

“There’s something wrong,” he growled. “I can’t just put my finger on it, but it doesn’t all add up …”

“What d’you mean?”

“Well, for one thing, he knows a hell of a lot about Earth, considering he’s supposed to have left it two thousand years ago. We’re light years from Sol and, no matter how technologically advanced he is, I don’t see him keeping watch on Earth this far out …”

“You mean, if what he told us about the Earth experiment is false, it’s likely that he’s lying about controlling the population of this planet with some phony religion …”

“I see that you need to be convinced, gentlemen,” interrupted the self-appointed deity. “Your own religion has a saying: ‘Oh ye of little faith …’”

“Yeah,” replied Carter defiantly. “Back home we have another: ‘Don’t piss down my back and tell me it’s raining …’”

“Very well,” rumbled Astra, “if it is proof that you want, watch …”

The acid-yellow surface of the wall beyond the central throne shimmered, becoming transparent, like a single, massive window open to space.

“The evidence, Alphans. Remember it if you ever you should think you can dare to challenge me.”

The image stabilised, the stars shining brightly against a velvet backdrop.

“That’s 9461,” said Carter, “as we saw it on the navigation monitors …”

Koenig remained silent, watching as 9461’s star grew from an anonymous point of light to all the awesome majesty of a mature sun. The point of view shifted, swooping towards a crescent of light that could only be a planet, siding behind it, its bulk swallowing the sun. Starlit sea flashed beneath them as they hurtled to meet the dawn, slowing only as forest-clad land rose from the water.

Lights glittered on the horizon. As they approached, Koenig realised that it was a city, sprawling darkly across a valley floor. In a moment they wre down amoung the buildings, following a wide, tee-lined avenue. Abruptly, the street widened into a great square, its edges thronged with people. Tilting back, the image closed on the summit of a tall, step-sided pyramid, flanked on either side by two smaller, but otherwise identical structures.

A golden figure, backlit by the blood-red glow that painted the sky, turned, his arms outstretched in greeting to the crowds about his feet.

“My people, John Koenig,” announced Astra. “My priests.”

The figure walked back to embrace a slight, white-clad female. Another girl removed her cloak, and the priest led her to the heart shaped altar stone.

“My sacrifice,” said the alien, as she laid across it. Koenig, eyes wide with horror and impotent rage, watched as the three priests stood about her.

The dawn broke, flooding the scene with fire. There was a flash of gold and, in a torrent of life-blood, the girl died, her quivering heart rising to fill the screen, framed by the blazing orb that rose above the distant horizon.

Carter, face grey with shock, leaned against Astra’s throne, resisting, with all his might, the overwhelming temptation to be suddenly, violently sick.

“You inhuman bastard,” whispered Koenig, as the image disintegrated, spinning redly into a twisting vortex of colour.

“What gives you the right to call me inhuman, John Koenig?” called the voice, angrily. “Any rights your race had you forfeited centuries ago …”

“You murdered that girl, as surely as if it had been your hand on that knife,” challenged, Koenig. “Murder! Callous, brutal, premeditated …”

“That others might survive, Alphan. That the civilisation will mature, at its own rate, and not one dictated by the heresy that is technology. You shall see, both of you, that my way is right, that it will succeed. You will join me, or be destroyed by your own, narrow minded beliefs.”

The swirling colours on the wall stilled, and Astra’s voice echoed into silence. Carter, licking lips that horror and anger had dried , glanced at Koenig.

“Then it’s true,” he said, hoarsely. “He does control this planet.”

Koenig nodded, feeling his racing heart slow as the adrenaline drained from his tissues.

“The question is,” he said, clinging desperately to a rational train of thought,” was he telling the truth about Earth?”

“Does it matter any more, commander?” replied Carter. “The trouble is here, and now, not a hundred light-years or two thousand years away …”

“Yes,” said Koenig, quietly. “Of course, you’re right, but …” He looked up at the wall. “There’s still something wrong …”

“Why should he lie about Earth? What’s the point?”

“To justify what he’s doing here, perhaps. Or simply to illustrate his point.” Koenig sat on the arm of his chair. “It may even be just to try and scare us …”

“The he’s doing a damn good job, that’s all I can say,” said Carter, sharply. “Just listening to him makes my flesh crawl."

He looked towards Koenig.

“And if he is telling the truth about Earth?”

Koenig glanced into the astronaut’s face.

“Then we really are in trouble,” he said.

There was a long silence, the two men lost in their own thoughts.

“That girl,” said Carter, suddenly. “She couldn’t have been much older than Carole …”

“That’s just what I was thinking …” began Koenig. “Thinking,” he repeated. He snapped his fingers. “That’s it,” he said, eagerly. “It must be. It’s the only explanation that fits. As to how Astra must have done it …”

Carter frowned. “Done what, Commander?”

“Learned about Earth. About us and our names. And about Breakaway …”

“I don’t understand …” began Carter.

“He can read minds,” said Koenig, emphatically. “Learn what he wants to know from us when we’re unconscious. It fits, it’s an answer. Look,” he leaned forward, emphasising the point he was trying to make. “He speaks colloquial, modern English. But English as a language didn’t exist two thousand years ago. It’s made up of dozens of others.”

The pilot nodded, thoughtfully, his expression brightening as he realised what Koenig had said.

“Yes,” he said. “Of course. But how does it help us?”

A pillar of orange light flared against the far wall, coalescing into the hated humanoid form of Astra. The two Alphans spun, freezing as they saw the longbow clasped in the creature’s left hand, and the steel tipped arrow that was pointing directly at Carter’s chest.

“What the hell..?” began Koenig.

“You have realised the truth too late to be of any use to you, Alphans,” boomed the voice. “For it is my duty, Alan Carter, to pronounce you dead …”

“No …” whispered Koenig, seeing the bowstring release, the missile slicing, straight as a laser beam, for his partner’s chest. It landed with a hollow thud, slamming the surprised Alphan back against his chair. He dropped slowly to the floor, propped upright by the throne, staring in amazement at the shaft as the crimson stain spread across the front of his shirt.

“Commander ..?" he called, blankly, pressing the outspread fingers of his right hand about the wound, feeling the warmth of the blood as it trickled between them.

“Alan, can you hear me?”

“Shock,” the pilot said, absently. “I must be in shock. I can’t feel anything …”

Koenig, eyes blazing, turned to Astra.

“Why?” he yelled. “Why kill him? Aren’t you satisfied with all the other murders and suffering committed in your name?”

“You have the power to save his life, Commander,” replied the alien, calmly. There was a pause, Koenig at once wary of the being’s sudden change of manner.

“What do you mean, I have the power to save him?”

“Don’t listen … to him …” panted Carter, face white with pain. Koenig glanced at him, seeing the man’s eyes glaze even as he watched.

“How can I save him?” he repeated, looking towards Astra. The alien walked forward, pausing before them.

“Attend a ceremony in my name, Commander. Speak my words to the people. Promise to do this and I will repair these injuries …”

“tell … him to … go to hell …” whispered the pilot, feeling himself losing his tenuous grip on consciousness.

“Agreed,” snapped Koenig. “I’ll co-operate.”

“A wise decision, Commander.”

Astra’s right hand extended. There was a flash of scarlet light and the crack of an electric discharge. As the afterglow faded from Koenig’s retina, he could see that both the arrow from Carter’s chest, and the bow in the alien’s hand, had vanished. The only sing of Carter’s wound was a red-brown stain on the front of his coveralls.

“Alan ..?”

“Uh, I’m okay, Commander, I …”

He looked at the back of his hand, then tried to sit up, glancing into the shadows beneath Astra’s cowl that hid his face.

“You are as if you had not sustained the injury,” announced the alien, turning and walking across the chamber. He paused before the wall, facing them as it slid upwards, revealing a green-floored room beyond.

“Mark this well, gentlemen,” he declared. “I hold power over both life and death, particularly those of yourselves. The method I chose was a simple demonstration to show you just how vulnerable you are.”

The right arm beckoned.

“Commander Koenig,” he called. “You made a bargain. A bargain that I now hold you to.”

Koenig glanced at Carter, then extended a hand to help him to his feet.

“You kept your side of the deal,” he said, coldly, standing and crossing the room. “I give you my word that I’ll keep mine.”

* * *

Evestregen’s seril thundered out of the night, skittering to a halt before the torchlit entrance ramp of the temple barracks. Kemargian descended the flight of steps to meet him as he dismounted.

“Did you meet with success?” he said, calmly, noting the exhilaration in the other man’s face.

“That we did, Kemargian,” he replied, pulling his helm from his head. “Troopers, an offering for the High Priest.”

The raiding party dismounted, two soldiers walking forward, a third, sinewy figure held between them.

“Bring her forward so we can see her,” he demanded, nodding at a pool of light at the foot of the steps. Kicking and scratching at her tormentors, the girl gave a squeak of pain as a trooper wound his fingers into her hair, dragging her head back so Kemargian could see her face.

“By the Heart of Astra,” he said, pursing his lips. “The sister of the blasphemer herself.”

“Murdering swine!” she gasped, aiming an ineffectual kick at the trooper to her left. “Biorn will make you pay …”

Evestragen lifted a clenched fist to strike her.

“Gently, old friend,” warned Kemargian, in a deceptively soft voice. “We must see that she is unharmed for Astra.” He parted the front of her dress, examining the bruises on the body beneath. He nodded, the expression on his face that of a trader examining a prime specimen of horseflesh.

“We announce the ceremony at daybreak,” he decided. “The following dawn we offer her to Astra.”

“Etak was not the only prize we took tonight, Kemargian,” said Evestragen, glancing behind him. “Bring forward the other one,” he called.

A second pair of troopers advanced. The High Priest’s eyes widened as he saw the youngster’s face.

“Exquisite,” he whispered. “Hair of gold, gown of silver,” she drew back as he reached forward to stroke her cheek, “skin,” he added, “of the finest marble …”

He glanced at Evestragen.

“Take her to the handmaidens. Have them examine her, then instruct her in her duties. The solstice is near. When it comes, she will be our prime sacrifice.”

“It shall be done, Kemargian,” promised the priest. “Unbeliever or not, Astra will surely be proud to take this one …”

Terror and confusion in her eyes, Carole glanced first at Etak, then into the face of the priest who had vowed to kill her in the name of his religion …

* * *

“Skorr, get me the uniform and sword of that soldier we found dead beside Tony after the raid. Slar, tell Elnhe to ask Helena and Tony to meet me in my tent …”

The two, grim-faced natives nodded, then turned and ran across the clearing. Biorn entered his hurriedly re-pitched home and began to remove his relaxing tunic.

“Biorn ..?”

He glanced at the girl who entered the tent, fastening a wide leather belt about his waist.

“Rana?” he said. “Yes, what is it?”

“Biorn, I promised your wife that I would not let you forget your vow to her …”

“Nor have I forgotten it …” he began, buckling the tie-straps of a scabbard onto the belt.

“But you said that you would never enter the city again …”

“I know what I said,” he replied, “and I have kept my word these fifteen years …”

“Then what are you doing now?”

“Rana,” he said, softly, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You know I love you as I did my wife. “But they have my daughter. They will murder her as surely as they tried to kill my son. You, the sister of her mother, you know that I cannot desert her …”

“Biorn,” she whispered, tears in her eyes, “they will kill you. They know you, still, after all these years. The priests will remember you …”

“I was a priest. That is why I must go. I cannot let them take my daughter from me. If I die it will be with a sword in my hand fighting for the lives of my family and friends.”

“Biorn, I …”

He smiled. “My heart is with you, Rana. Keep my tent warm for me,” he said, sliding a sword into the scabbard and slipping a dagger into the top of his left boot. “I will be back,” he promised. “Etak, and the stranger, Carole, will not be left to be sport for Astra and his priests, that, I vow.”

“If it is your wish, Biorn, I cannot stop you. Go, with my blessing, to your daughter …”

They embraced, Rana hiding her tears against his shoulder.

“Biorn, it will soon be daybreak …”

Slar, sword in his right hand, a lacquered-wood shield strapped to his left, paused in the doorway of the tent.

“Uh, my apologies,” he faltered. “But we must hurry …”

The elder nodded, standing away from the woman.

“Yes, of course,” he replied. “Are the others ready?”

“Yes, I …”

“Biorn …”

The two men turned as Elnhe entered the tent.

“Helena is tending Tony’s wounds,” she panted. “She had set up a hospital tent to treat those injured in the attack.”

“We must thank her …” began Biorn.

“Ebron wants to join you to help rescue Etak.”

Biorn shook his head. “He must not,” he said, crossly. “He is still weak from his injuries …”

“That is what I tried to tell him,” she replied, “but …”

“Go back to him, Elnhe. Make him stay here.”

The girl shook her head. “But I want to go with you …”

Biorn uttered a patient sigh.

“Elnhe, you are more use to us here. Help Helena to take care of our wounded.”

“But …”

“Elnhe, that is my order.”

Her face creased with impatient anger.

“But I can use a sword …”

“You should use those pretty hand of yours to heal, not kill. Please, Elnhe, it’s nurses we need, not warriors.”

She opened her mouth to speak. Biorn beat her to it.

“Take care of my son for me. Obey the wishes of an old man just this once.”

She swallowed the knot of disappointment from her throat, standing forward and embracing him tightly.

“Take care,” she whispered. “For Ebron’s sake, and mine …”

He walked with her to the doorflap, releasing her and turning towards the group of eager young men who awaited his commands.

“You know what you have to do?” he called.

“Kill the priests!,” called a voice, amid a chorus of agreement.

“No!” snapped Biorn. “We go to rescue the girls taken from this camp. Leave unnecessary bloodletting to the followers of Astrs.”

“But don’t be afraid to use your swords if they get in your way,” added Skorr, running his thumb menacingly along one edge of the twin-bladed axe he held in his right hand. 

Biorn glanced at him, then nodded.

“Very well,” he said. “The sooner we start, the sooner we reach the city.” He looked into the sky above his tent. “Daybreak is almost upon us. My only hope is that the priests choose to postpone my daughter’s sacrifice until tomorrow’s dawn.”

He looked towards Rana and, exchanging reassuring smiles with Elnhe, led his rescue party from the camp.

The girl watched them go, a tiny voice within her urging her to follow …

“Get out my way, woman. I must go with them …”

She turned, to see Ebron, a thick bandage about one arm and a harassed maidservant hanging from the other, burst through the doorflap of the tent commandeered by Helena as a makeshift hospital.

“Elnhe,” he called, seeing her. “Explain to this thick-witted creature will you? I have to go with Biorn …”

Her eyes narrowed. The chieftain had entrusted her with a job to do, and, she decided, she do it she would.

“Get back in there this instant,” she commanded, threateningly, “or, by the stars, I’ll find a sword and put a hole in your other arm …”

“Elnhe …” he said in amazement, “but …”

“No buts,” she ordered. “Get back to bed before that cut opens again and you lose any more blood.”

“On one condition,” he said, slyly.

She frowned. “What are you talking about?”” she demanded.

“Merely that if I do return to bed, you go with me …”

“Ebron!” she squeaked. “That,” she pointed towards the tent,” is a hospital, not a whore-house!”

He pantomimed an astonished look. 

“Elnhe,” he said, “whatever happened to the innocent little girl I rescued from the priests?”

A pout appeared on her lips.

“She grew up when they started sticking knives into the man she loves,” she said, darkly.

Ebron smiled at her, deep affection in his eyes.

“All right,” he sighed. “All right, it that is how you want it …”

“Yes, that is how I want it. Go and get some rest. I’m sure Biorn will leave plenty of priests for you when he returns.”

“Can I see the strangers?”

“I don’t know …”

“Please, Elnhe, I have much to thank them for …”

She shrugged her shoulders in resignation.

“Oh, very well,” she said. “Come, they are in the tent beside Biorn’s.”

* * *

As they approached the Alphan’s quarters, they heard Helena, her voice raised in a most un-doctor-like manner, directing an angry tirade against her most immediate patient.

“Get back into bed, Tony Verdeschi, before I call in Biorn’s men and have you hog-tied.”

“But, Helena …”

“I mean it, Tony. And take those painkilling tablets I gave you.”

“Painkillers given me a headache,” he countered, defiantly, suddenly realising that Elnhe and Ebron, both convulsed with laughter, were standing in the doorway to his bedroom. Despite the strangeness of their language to them, there was no mistaking the meaning of their words.

Helena glanced at Elnhe, who forced a serious expression onto her face.

“Elnhe,” she breathed, sighing with relief. “Tony stat hi, vestend?”

“Yo, Helena,” replied the girl, aiming her darkest and most matronly look at the astronaut. “Vestend.”

“Now, look, Tony,” said Helena, “I’m going to check on the rest of my patients, and if you haven’t taken those pills by the time I get back I’m going to pump you so full of Novacetamol you’ll be numb for a week, okay?”

Verdeschi scowled.

“Okay, Helena,” he said, tiredly. “But I ought to be out there looking for Etak and Carole …”

“Biorn has all that well in hand,” she said, returning a drug clip to the medikit and picking it up. Crossing the room, she smiled a belated greeting to Elnhe, Ebron returning it sheepishly. “Just get some rest,” sh added, “I’ll be back soon.”

Ebron walked forward, pausing at the foot of Verdeschi’s bed as the door curtain closed behind her.

“Streng homono,” he said, extending his right arm in greeting. “Kedo spivak.”

“Uh, yeah,” replied Verdeschi, lifting his bandaged arm to return a token salute and realising he was going to be stuck with the tag ‘spivak killer’ for as long as he remained on the planet.

“Erm,” he began, uncertainly, “strak dra cum …”

Elnhe, needing no further encouragement, sat beside him on the bed, surprising him by slipping an arm around his waist and kissing him affectionately on the lips.  
He leaned back as she released him, glancing at Ebron and spreading his arms either side of her.

“Uh, Elnhe di Ebron …” he said defensively.

Ebron smiled warmly.

“Yo, Tony,” he said, slapping her playfully in the rump. “Elnhe es di mu.”

Verdeschi heaved a sigh of relief. Two jealous boyfriends in as many days would have been a little too much to handle. He nodded to his new-found colleague, returning the man’s smile. He glanced at the table beside his bed, grimacing as he saw the strip of foil that contained the painkilling capsules. He picked it up, tearing a corner from one of the sealed pouches and tipping the tablet into his hand.

“Hum,” he said. “I could use some water to help this down.” He looked up into Elnhe’s face.

“Drink?” he said, miming the appropriate actions.

“Ah, Bevra,” she replied. “Vassa, vin oda ayal?”

“Ayal,” Called Ebron, firmly, before the Alphan could reply. “Shemk bona.”

“Ayal?” repeated Verdeschi, dubiously. “But I only want something to help take this tablet …”

Elnhe stood, and aiming a frown at Ebron, said: “Stat hi. Beiden.”

He smiled innocently.

“Veh, veh,” he urged, watching her as she walked doubtfully from the chamber. Pausing only long enough to see that she had, in fact, left them, he turned back to Verdeschi.

“Sumo veh urbo di Astra,” he whispered.

“We’re going where?” said the Alphan, loudly.

Ebron made sudden, shushing noises.

“Urbo di Astra,” he repeated. “Cum Biorn e Skorr.”

“Urbo,” frownmed Verdeschi. “Urbo … city?” he said suddenly, Astra’s city, with Biorn?”

“Yo, yo,” agreed Ebron. “City. We go Astra’s city. Etak soror di mu. Uh, sister of me, yo?”

Verdeschi nodded, slipping out of bed as, drawing a dagger from his belt, Ebron cut the straps that fastened one section of tent wall to the next.

The Alphan kicked into his boots, then, picking up his shirt, he crossed the bedchamber and looked through the doorflap. In the tent’s entrance chamber was a low table, their uniforms and spacesuits still draped across it.

Verdeschi smiled, walking forward and picking up his commlock and Helena’s laser.

“Tony,” called Ebron, urgently.

“Okay,” he replied, fastening his uniform belt about his waist and clipping the commlock to it. “On our way, Ebron. I’m right with you …”

* * *

Helena smiled tiredly at her last patient. She snapped the life-sign reader back into its recess in the top of the medikit and, closing it, began to walk back to Verdeschi’s tent. As she approached it, Elnhe, carrying a large earthernware jug and a pari of pewter tankards, emerged from Biorn’s home.

“What’s that?” she called, addressing the girl in her own tongue.

“Ale, for Tony and Ebron,” she replied, pausing before her. Helena peered at the foaming, nut-brown brew in the jug.

“Oh, it’s beer,” she said in surprise. “I can see you and Tony are going to get along just fine …”

She drew back the door curtain, standing aside to let Elnhe enter with her offering.

“Tony, Ebron,” she called. “Ale …”

Helena frowned as she heard the girl pause. Putting the medikit down beside the suits, she ran into the bedchamber, realisation dawning as the severed wall-ties told their own story.

“Of all the pig-headed …” she began. “Elnhe,” she called, “we’ve got to find them. They’re still too weak to start getting into fights …” Her voice tailed into silence as she saw the painkillers, lying where Verdeschi had left them on the bedside table.

“What is it, Helena?”

“Those pills,” she said, nodding at them. “They’re drugs to take over when the effects of the other medication wears off.” She looked into the other girl’s face. “When it does, and without these chemicals, the shock could kill him …”


	13. Chapter 13

The sergeant lifted his sword and, rapping the pommel of its hilt against the stout, nail-studded door, announced his presence.

“High Priestess of Astra,” he called, “we bring fresh recruits for you.”

With a dull clatter, a lockbolt withdrew and the door swung smoothly open. A woman, gowned in spectral white, frowned suspiciously at the soldier across the threshold.

“What is it?” she challenged. “It is late …”

“The raiding party sent out by Kemargian to chase unbelievers has returned,” he reported. “They did not come back empty-handed.”

He stood aside. Behind him, the two prisoners, each flanked by a pair of armoured troopers, stood forward into the arc of light springing from the room beyond the woman.

Her eyebrows arched as she saw them.

“Are they … untouched?” she said, thoughtfully.

“That is for you to find out, priestess,” replied the soldier. “Certainly I have not tampered with them.” An evil grin slid across his face. “Unless, of course, you want _me_ to examine them for you …”

He made the mistake of cupping Etak under the chin, looking towards the other woman as he did so. Giving a hiss of anger, the native twisted her head. In a blue of movement, her mouth opened, then closed, her teeth sinking into the leather of the man’s gauntlet as, behind her back, she pulled frantically at the leather straps that bound her wrists.

The man yelped with alarm, feeling skin tear and blood begin to flow in the glove.

“Why, you little hell-cat …” he yelled, lifting the hilt of his sword to club her away. 

The priestess thrust one arm beneath the descending wrist, swinging the other towards Etak. A stubby, copper-coloured rod, about half a metre long and as thick as Carole’s wrist, slapped against the girl’s cheek. A cry of alarm on her lips, Etak released the trooper, leaning back as she felt the sting of the hot metal.

The solder cradled his hand against his chest.

“My thanks to you, female,” he growled, glancing at Etak. Carole watched, horror-struck and fired with anger, as a red weal appeared on her friend’s cheek where the cylinder had rested.

“Clean her up,” rasped the guard. “The morning after tomorrow she goes to Astra …”

“And the other one?”

The sergeant pulled the gauntlet from his hand and studied the bite marks.

“Take particular care over that one,” he said, icily. “Kemargian wants her for the great ceremony.”

“If she is whole,” noted the priestess, looking at Carole with an expression on her face that chilled her blood.

The soldier shrugged his shoulders, then pulled a face as he slipped his gore-coated hand back into the gauntlet.

“Well, he said, “if there are any doubts, woman, you have only to send her to me. I’m sure I can find a use for her even if the priests cannot …”

“You vile, slime crawling, hell spawn …” began Etak, kicking at him as she tried to pull free of her escort.

“Be silent,” warned the female, lifting the copper bar threateningly. She glanced at the sergeant.

“They are mine, now,” she reminded him, looking towards the guards. “Mine until the priests come for them. Release them. Tell Kemargian they will be ready when he wants them.”

“If you require any assistance,” began the soldier, a sly leer on his face, “Any service that you may be unable to perform …”

The copper cylinder thudded aganst the man’s helm, tipping him against the sandstone wall beside him. He swayed upright, shaking the coloured lights from his brain.

“This is my domain, trooper,” snapped the priestess. “No mere man may cross this threshold, soldier or priest, ever. “ She pointed the cylinder at Carole. “You,” she called. “Enter. Stand inside the door.” She nodded to Etak’s guards. “Release her. If she tries to run she’ll have another taste of this.”

Carole, understanding little more than one in ten of the words the woman had spoken, but appreciating her meaning all the same, did as she was told, to stand, blinking in the glare of a thousand flickering candles, in a huge, marble-pillared hall.

Etak, left eye hot and swollen above the burn on her cheek, limped to her side. The priestess gave one, last comment to the departing troopers, then turned and swept elegantly past them as a servant closed and secured the door behind her.

She paused before a large, beaten-metal cauldron, fashioned, apparently, from the same alloy as the cylinder and hung by three chains above a log-fuelled fire. Through the swirling clouds of vapour pouring from its rim could be seen a row of wodden handles, bleached white by teir almost perpetual immersion in the hot water. Lifting the cylinder, the priestess plunged it back into the cauldron, its handle joining its brothers in the steam.

The woman turned, and, nodding towards Etak, spoke:

“The redness and swelling will soon subside, unbeliever. Granted, we do use pain to ensure your co-operation, but we must preserve your beauty, and see to it that your bodies remain intact until you are offered to Astra …”

A group of servants, clad in light, translucent gowns of a delicate shade of green, gathered at a respectful distance about them.

“Untie their hands,” ordered the priestess, walking across the chamber to stand before a low, marble-topped table covered with bowls of fruit and crystal decanters of what could have been anything from perfume to wine.

“Tell me,” she said, looking back towards them, “What are your names?”

“This is Carole,” said Etak, glancing at her. “And I am …”

“She cannot speak for herself?”

“No, she …”

“The female is dumb? Or stupid? Or, perhaps, both?”

Etak felt her anger rise within her.

“Neither,” she snapped. “She is not of this land, and does not speak our tongue. She has traveled many thousands of paces …”

“Oh, a barbarian,” observed the priestess, in an off-hand voice.

“Barbarian or not, I’d exchange her for a hundred of your evil kind …”

The woman’s eyes narrowed.

“What is your name, unbeliever?”

“Etak,” she replied, defiantly.

“Mine is Siva. Remember it as you die, blasphemer, for in spirit my hand will be on the sacrificial knife as surly as if I were Kemargian myself. My soul will be with him even as he tears that evil heart from your body …”

“I shall remember, oh Siva,” vowed Etak. “I shall engrave it upon the sword I will use to slit your scrawny throat in payment for all the innocents you have sent to their graves.”

Siva was unconcerned.

“Your threats,” she said, airily, “are as empty of substance as the throat of yor half-wit companion is empty of words.”

She advanced upon the Alphan, halting before her. Carole returned her stare, determined not to be cowed by the alien’s manner. Shedding tears in the sight of soldiers was one thing, but she would deny another woman, particularly this one, the satisfaction of seeing her weep.

Siva nodded.

“You hate me, don’t you child,” she said, her voice deceptively soft, her many suddenly comforting. “Even if you don’t understand me, you instinctively detest me.”

She extended a languid hand, lifting Carole’s chin with a fingertip.

“It really is a shame that you must go to Astra, my dear. You are really very beautiful …”

“Leave her alone!” challenged Etak. “Isn’t it enough that the priests are going to kill her without you corrupting her as well ..?”

“Enough!” she hissed. “Servants, remove their clothing. We shall see if they are fit for Astra …”

A trio of servants advanced on Etak, who spun, in a defensive crouch, to face them, her fingers tensed, the nails ready to scratch and claw, the teeth to bite.

“Have you forgotten the kiss of the cylinder so soon, unbeliever?” reminded Siva. “Co-operate and you save yourself all that pain. Or would you rather we use it on this fair-haired friend of yours?”

Slowly, reluctantly, Etak relaxed.

“Very well, then,” she said. “For Carole’s sake only.”

She untied the waist-cord and slipped the dress from her shoulders, stepping out of it as it fell to the floor.

Siva knelt before her, cold, skeletal fingers probing ungently as she made her inspection. Carole flinched sympathetically as Etak, giving a gasp of pain, pulled away from the priestess’ prying touch.

Siva stood, and, with a growl of anger, slapped Etak hard across the face with the back of her hand. The native’s eyes narrowed, but she refused to cry out.

“Next time I use a cylinder,” warned Siva, darkly, turning to face Carole. “Now, my pretty barbarian, it is your turn.”

The Alphan exchanged glances with Etak, then shrugged her gown from her body. Frowning, Siva grabbed her wrist, lifting and turning it to open the hand, revealing the mouse – Alan’s mouse – that she had kept close by her since the moment he had given it to her.

“What’s this?” said Siva, suspiciously. “A child’s toy?”

She reached for it with her other hand to pry it from the Alphan’s fingers.

“No!” yelled Carole, pulling free.

“Give it to me,” demanded Siva, walking round her as she turned away.

Something within her finally snapped. She may no longer be in possession of her own destiny, but no-one was going to take Alan’s last gift away from her, not while a single breath remained in her body.

She side-stepped as Siva advanced and, rage boiling in her soul, drove a bony elbow into the woman’s side as she went past.

“You little …” gasped the priestess, facing her. A chop to the throat stilled her voice, a fore-arm into her stomach jack-knifed her forward and a knee under her chin finished the job.

Breast heaving with emotion, Carole backed off from Siva’s moaning body, casting warning glances at the thunderstruck servants about her.

“Poetry,” whispered Etak, amazement on her face. “Sheer poetry. It almost makes my death worthwhile …”

Gasping for breath, Siva rolled onto her side. With a disdainful air, Carole walked to retrieve her gown. She tied it about herself and, picking up Etak’s, walked to her to place it around her shoulders. The two girls exchanged sincere smiles, then looked towards the downed priestess.

“Siva ..?” began a servant, in a terrified voice.

“I’ll survive,” replied her superior, sharply, getting unsteadily to her feet. Glancing icily, but with a token degree of respectfulness, at the unbelievers, she pointed at Etak. “Take this one to the holding cells. Leave her to the priests.”

She nodded warily at Carole. “Put this one in the White Chamber. See she bathes and is given ointment for her wounds …”

“But the examination …”

“Let Astra examine her,” she answered, bitterly. “I wash my hands of her.” Siva’s eyes hooded as she looked towards the Alphan. “Send her food, wine, perfumes and clothing. Treat her as you would any daughter of Astra, but I never want to see her again until the ceremony.”

The priestess looked into the youngster’s face.

“I could have filled your last days with pleasure, barbarian,” she said quietly. “Instead, you’ll spend them alone, in a bed as cold as your eyes.”

Siva spun, her gown billowing about her as she walked from the room.

“Liga,” she called, “Tana, Silana. Come, we have a sacrifice to prepare for …”

* * *

Side by side, Koenig and Carter followed Astra into the green room.

“Stand there,” he commanded, turning towards them at their reluctance to respond.

“You would be advised to obey me, gentlemen,” he warned. “Resurrecting the dead is an experiment I am reluctant to perform more than once in one day, but I can kill at any time.”

Carter shrugged his shoulders. “He still holds all the aces, Commander,” he said.

Koenig nodded

“Better do as he says,” he decided, aiming a look that would have sprung a blowback bulkhead at the scarlet figure.

As Carter stepped into the ring of light, there was a sudden, pneumatic hiss, and a wide, transparent cylinder slammed down about him, separating the two Alphans from each other.

“What the …” called Koenig, spinning to look to the alien

“Your colleague has been placed in a situation where he can cause me no harm, Commander. He can see us, hear us, even speak to us …”

“Like a bloody canary in a cage …” yelled the astronaut, leaning against the transparency. 

“Or an eagle in a zoo, Captain Carter?”

Astra seemed pleased at the play on words. Koenig was unable to appreciate the irony of the comment.

“Why the cylinder?” he demanded.

“He is my hostage, Commander,” replied Astra, approaching a squat, curving bank of instruments that sat at the centre of the room. He placed a gloved hand upon a translucent panel that glowed redly as he did so. Lights on the console began to shine, and fluting, electronic tones began to sound as machinery warmed to life.

Koenig was unimpressed.

“All right,” he said. “So you’re making sure I co-operate …”

“Excellent, Commander,” agreed the alien, without turning from the control desk. “It is refreshing to see that you acknowledge my superiority at last …”

“Enough of the backtalk, Astra. What do you want us to do?”

The alien pointed towards a raised dais at the far side of the room as, before them, the wall shimmered as the view-plate had done in the other chamber.

“With this device,” explained Astra, “I can form a hyper-space tunnel to connect that dais with any other point on the planet’s surface, to be specific, the top of the sacrificial pyramid.”

The image stabilised upon the three towers they had seen bear witness to the sacrifice the alien had shown them to demonstrate his hold upon the inhabitants of the city

“This tunnel of yours …” began Carter.

“Door, I think, would be more appropriate, Captain,” interrupted Astra, “since the actual process of transportation is instantaneous …”

“Whatever it is. Did you use it to pick us up out of the wreck of the Eagle?”

“That I did.”

“And the orange light?”

“The only visible manifestation of the hyper-tunnel itself, where space becomes non-space …”

The astronaut nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. Koenig glanced at him, then faced Astra.

“You want me to step through the tunnel into the middle of the ceremony?”

“Affirmative, Commander. There, you will speak my message to the people.”

Koenig’s left eyebrow arched.

“How do we know you’ll keep your word?”

There was a moment of silence. Slowly, Astra turned, the black oval that hid his face staring balefully at the Alphan.

“You keep your word, Commander Koenig, and I will keep mine. I have my own code of honour, one that I obey implicitly.”

He touched a control. The view on the wall-screen shifted, following the track of the rising sun as it neared its zenith.

“This star follows its own, natural laws, Alphan,” he said, “Just as I must remain faithful to the laws that give me my soul. Live within my laws, Commander, and I remain true to my word.”

He nodded into the screen. “The priests have a new offering for me. A barbarian female, an unbeliever. One of the raiding parties sent out by the priests stumbled upon her …”

“Considerate of them not to have killed her outright when they found her," growled Carter, acidly. Astra ignored him.

“The ceremony,” he continued, “will take place at tomorrow’s dawn. It is then that you will give my message to them, Commander, to reaffirm the faith of my people.”

“How do you expect me to make myself understood?” replied Koenig. “Or do they already understand twentieth-century English?”

In answer, the alien threw another control.

“Because,” he answered, as a section of the floor slid aside between them, “I will speak, through you, in their own language.”

Koenig frowned, watching as a table, painted in the same, eye-jarring green as the rest of the room, emerged from the dark pit to halt at waist-height before him. At its centre was a short, flexible strap, with a clasp at either end and a shallow, rectangular grey box across its midsection.

“The voice of Astra,” announced the alien. “Pick it up, Commander. Don’t worry, it can’t hurt you.”

Koenig hefted the device, turning it over in his hands as he examined it.

“What is it?” he said, suspiciously.

“A communications receiver, amplifier and loudspeaker, plus a power supply.”

“That all?” said Carter, in genuine amazement.

“That is all that is required, Captain,” responded Astra, simply. “You will wear it around your neck, Commander. The people will see you, but hear me.”

“And I’m your instant oracle,” said Koenig.

“Precisely, Commander.”

“But if the job’s that simple, why can’t you do it?” challenged Carter. “Or are you scared of getting that pretty suit of your stained with innocent blood?”

“I have my reasons, Alphans,” snapped Astra. “Replace the device upon the table. It will be returned to you when the time comes for you to accomplish your mission.”

Koenig aimed a sideways glance at the alien, then returned the instrument to the table. A transparent cylinder, a twin of the one that imprisoned Carter, sighed down around it, sealing it from him.

Astra fisted a switch panel and began to walk from the instrument desk. Another, inevitable cylinder, hissed down to protect the machinery as, passing Koenig, he approached the open door panel.

“I leave you with the city, gentlemen,” he said, indicating the view-screen with a casual sweep of his arm. “And time to contemplate the triumphs of my experiments …”

“Triumphs?” said Koenig, angrily. “Where religion is nothing more than ceremonial murder?”

“A few may die, Commander, but the civilisation survives …”

“You keep saying that …”

Astra turned to contemplate him.

“Because it is the truth,” he said, coldly, backing towards the doorway. “This argument is finished, Koenig. I will tolerate it no longer.”

Koenig, his features set as if carved from granite, studied the alien through eyes that glittered with silent defiance.

Astra’s cowled head, nodded.

“Until the dawn, Alphans,” he growled, as the massive door panel began to inch downwards.

With the utter finality of a death-row cell-door closing, the panel thudded into the floor, the dying whine of its drive motors echoing about the chamber. 

Koenig relaxed anger-tensed muscles, then glanced towards Carter and his unique prison. The astronaut slumped down against the far curve of the transparency and aimed a rueful look at him.

“This spake Astra,” he said, simply.

Koenig advanced upon the cylinder, pressing his hands against the glass-like material.

Carter shook his head. “Whatever this stuff is,” he said, “neither of us is going to shift it.”

“Agreed,” replied Koenig, looking towards the view-screen. “It looks as though I’ve no choice but to go to this insane ceremony of his …”

“Hey, hold it, Commander,” began Carter, pulling himself to his feet to stand before him. “That guy’s mad. The first chance you get you put as much free air between you and that hyper-tube thing as you can …”

“I’m not leaving you in this hell-house, Alan …”

“You don’t have much choice …”

“And another thing, aren’t you forgetting this orange-light gadget picked us up out of that beak?”

Carter frowned.

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s what’s been bothering me …”

“Bothering you?”

“That’s right. Something you were saying before Astra’s trick with that arrow …”

“Something I said?” A puzzled frown creased Koenig’s brow. “What trick? That arrow was real enough …”

“I’m not so sure, Commander,” replied Carter, shaking his head.

“What are you talking about?”

The astronaut looked down at his coveralls.

“Take a close look at this stain, Commander.”

Koenig shrugged his shoulders. “Looks just like dried blood to me,” he said.

“How about these marks?” asked Carter, tracing a wavering outline on the right side of the discoloured patch. Koenig pulled a grimace, shaking his head.

Carter lifted his right hand, the back turned towards his colleague.

“There’s something staining my hand,” he said.

Koenig nodded, opening his mouth to speak.

“But,” added Carter, turning the hand, palm outwards, “nothing where I pressed it to the wound.”

“Well, I’ll be …” began Koenig.

“Now watch,” said the astronaut, mysteriously. He placed the hand, fingers spread, against the front of his coveralls.

“My god,” whispered Koenig. “The edge of the stain is the outline of your hand …”

“Which means …”

“Which means that the stain was sprayed on, from the outside.”

“No blood,” said Carter, triumphantly. “No wound, and no arrow …”

“Hypnotism. Sympathetic magic, illusion,” added Koenig, snapping his fingers. “He’s somehow using our own minds against us. Which means all of this could be a mental projection …”

“Uh, not entirely, Commander,” interrupted Carter, lifting his left hand, revealing a row of bruised, skinned knuckles. “I aimed a punch at this glass to test a theory. At least this stuff’s real …”

“You all right?”

“I’ll live,” was the inevitable comment.

“Okay,” said Koenig, leaning against the cylinder that ringed the control panels, studying them with a professional eye. “So Astra’s not infallible, and he’s far less of a god than we first thought. The question is, what is he?”

“Not ‘why does he want us to do his dirty work for him?’”

Koenig frowned. He turned to face Carter.

“Say that again,” he said.

“What? Why does he want us to do his dirty work for him?”

“Dirty work,” repeated Koenig.

“I don’t think I see what you’re getting at, Commander.”

“Remember the second time we woke up after we arrived here?”

“You mean the white room, and the beds, finding our clothing gone ..?”

“And our skins practically scrubbed from our backs.” Koenig swept an arm in a generous sweep about him. “Look at this place,” he said “It’s like a damn hospital. There’s not a speck of dust anywhere.”

Carter nodded. “Sure, and look at the fancy suit Astra wears. I’d swear that was a surgical gown, it if wasn’t for that crazy hood over his head …”

“I wonder why we never see his face.”

“Perhaps he’s scared of catching a cold …”

Koenig glanced sharply at him.

“A cold,” he said, with an expression on his face that Marie Curie must have worn as she realised she had identified science’s newest element.

“That’s why he has to send one of us out to visit his people,” said Carter, picking up the threads of the argument. “He can’t risk exposing himself to airbourne bacteria, or any other kind of bacteria for that matter …”

Koenig nodded.

“Well, if the idea fits most of the facts …” he began.

“It fits all of them, Commander,” affirmed the astronaut. “It’s only proper scientific practice. He’s isolating himself from his experimental cage in case he accidentally picks up some bug from it …”

“You’ve forgotten one thing,” reminded Koenig.

“What?”

“Why, with all this gadgetry, does he need a mere human to carry a message to his tame rats?”

Carter shook his head.

“You got me on that one, Commander,” he said, looking towards the image of the city on the wall. He sought Koenig’s face, staring into his friend’s eyes.

“But one thing’s for sure,” he said, quietly. “The minute you get into that city you hightail it out of there and wait for Paul and Sandra to turn up. Don’t go risk your fool neck for my sake …”

Koenig glanced at him, then turned to look at the view-screen.

“We’ll see, Alan,” he said darkly. “We’ll see …”

* * *

By the time they reached the edge of the forest, the sun was well into the sky. Ebron leaned against a tree-stump, lifting the edge of his bandage to peer at the wounded arm beneath it. Verdeschi, breathing heavily as his heart pounded in his ears, slumped on the soft and welcoming turf beside him.

"Phew!” he gasped. “The last time I did any cross-country trekking was in the army, and I didn’t care too much for it then.”

He wiped the sweat-beads from his forehead with the back of his hand, shading the blazing sun with his fingertips as he peered at the rooftops of the city in the valley below.

Ebron nodded at him. _We’ll show them,_ he thought. _We’ll let Helena and Elnhe see that it would take more than a few cuts and bruises to keep us out of a fight._

“Veh, Tony,” he said. “Es spaat …”

Verdeschi was frowning, apparently in pain and clutching his left arm to his chest. He glanced at the native and, forcing a sudden smile onto his face, nodded to him.

“Okay, Ebron,” he said, in a tight voice. “Just cramp, I think. I’ll be all right …”

The villager helped him to his feet.

“Kaster, Tony?” he said, concern in his eyes. “Ni urbo …”

“No,” replied Verdeschi, sharply. “Ni kaster. Su veh urbo.”

A thin smile appeared on his lips. The pain was subsiding – just.

“I’ll be fine,” he assured him. “As soon as Etak and Carole are safe …” 

He patted Ebron on his good arm, and turned to walk towards the city. The native watched him go, a frown on his face. He glanced at his wound, then at the Alphan’s retreating back.

With a sudden, impatient shake of his head, he ran after the other man. If a stranger could risk his life for his sister, then so would he …

 


	14. Chapter 14

Carole walked in silence after the maidservant who guided her through the three luxuriously appointed rooms that were to be her prison until the priests came for her. The entrance to the unit opened onto the largest chamber, a bedroom-cum-living room. The dominant piece of furniture was the massive, fur-draped bed, ringed with silken curtains and slender, wrought-metal stands, supporting shallow trays into which smouldering blocks of incense had been placed.

Beyond the curtains across one wall could be seen a wide balcony that afforded a magnificent view of the city – and a backstreet almost fifteen metres below. She would not make an escape down there, she decided, as her escort indicated a low table laden with dishes of fruit and carafes of wine.

The maidservant crossed the room. In the wall opposite the bed, two doors opened onto a bathroom and wardrobe respectively. Carole nodded, politely, as the servant began opening cabinets, revealing a dazzling array of relaxing gowns, all, apparently of the finest silks.

The other girl completed her guided tour and, with a cheerful smile, padded from the room. Carole watched the door as it slammed shut, hearing the ominous crunch of bolts sliding firmly home.

She walked through into the bathroom. The sunken bath, its lining of marble slabs glistening whitely in the light from the rising sun beyond the balcony, was filled to the brim with hot, steaming water. At one end of the bath was another, marble-topped table, bearing a row of ribbed bottled containing a variety of brilliantly coloured liquids. 

Absently, she lifted the nearest and removed the ground-glass stopper from its top.

It was perfume, a delicate, musky aroma. She gave a little shrug of her shoulders, replaced the top of the bottle and turned to look at the suddenly welcome pool of water before her. With a tired shake of her head, she untied the waist-cord of her dress. Something fell from the folds of cloth, landing on the floor with a soft patter.

“Oh no,” she said, weakly, bending to pick it up. Kneeling, she leaned against the table. The tears she had fought so long to hold back began to flow, glistening freely down her cheeks.

“Alan,” she whispered, wretchedly, looking into the tiny face of the fabric creature. “Why did it happen like this? Why did you … have to ..?” She closed her eyes, crushing the mouse into her fist as she leaned over the table, cradling her head in her arms.

“I don’t care about me anymore,” she sobbed. “But why you? In heaven’s name, why you ..?”

She lifted her head, turning to look at the patch of reflected sunlight that slid silently across the cold, white floor.

“Alan … I … I still love you …”

* * *

Biorn squinted at the sun as it burned impassively across the cloudless sky. He turned as the rattle of falling pebbles sounded behind him. Skorr, breathing heavily, slumped down beside him, leaning against the boulder that afforded them cover from the prying eyes of soldiers on the city walls.

“Any news?” said the chieftain, looking into the face of the other man. 

“They’re still alive,” he replied. “Both of them. Etak is in a cell below the temple. I don’t know where Carole is, but our friends in the city think she may have been taken to the palace of Siva …”

“Siva,” hissed Biorn, “Keeper of Astra’s maidens.” He nodded at Skorr. “Good. If she is there, I know a way to get to her. What of Etak?”

“Tomorrow at dawn. There is to be another offering of appeasement to Astra …”

“Someone is going to be very disappointed,” vowed Biorn, darkly. “Call the others. We enter the city under cover of darkness. We’ll attack the pyramids as Astra pokes that ugly face of his over the horizon …”

* * *

Verdeschi, a painful whine singing in his brain, was picking his wy slowly over a tumble of sandstone boulders when Ebron’s hand tapped him on the shoulder.

“What ..?” he began.

Ebron frowned, urging him to be quiet with a curt wave of his hand. He pointed into a band of shrubbery that stood between them and the city, then began to walk carefully down the rock-strewn slope.

Verdeschi knelt beside him as he paused against a flower-trimmed bush.

“Aha!” whispered the Alphan, seeing the reason for the man’s stealth. A man, clad in simple homespun, was raking freshly cut hay into a pile before a crude handcart.

“Homono di Urbo,” said Ebron, simply. There was a hiss as he withdrew a short, wicked-looking dagger from the top of his boot. He was standing, making to push through the undergrowth when Verdeschi, laying a hand on his arm, urged him to wait.

“Don’t kill him,” he said. “Ni kedo. I’ve a better way.”

Ebron shook his head, doubtfully.

“Trust me,” added the Alphan. He lifted the hem of his tunic and pulled the laser from his belt. The switch on its top clicked to ‘stun’, and he lifted the weapon, aiming along it at the unsuspecting figure through the trees.

There was a brief, singing cry, and an amber glow burned faintly about the city-dweller. He collapsed, without a sound, onto the heap of dried grass. Verdeschi grinned at the amazed Ebron, then stood, returned the laser to its clip and walked towards the downed native.

“Su veh urbo?” he said, looking up at the deserted city walls.

“Yo,” replied his colleague, blankly, pointing past the cart at the city. “Druber.”

Verdeschi looked along the outstretched finger, seeing a semi-circular cut-out in the foot of the wall, through which a water-course bubbled merrily. He nodded.

“Not very original,” he decided. “But it’ll have to do …”

Again came the tight, acid-burning pain across his chest. He exhaled with a sigh. 

“Dammit,” he gasped, “What the hell’s wrong with me?”

He massaged his chest with his left hand, feeling the pain slowly subside. He glanced at Ebron.

“Okay, old mate,” he said, “let’s go, before Etak starts to wonder where we’ve got to …”

* * *

Carole looked into the mirror, seeing the face of a tired and grief-struck girl staring back. She had bathed in the deep, hot water and, dressed in one of the exquisitely fashioned gowns, should have been feeling refreshed and relaxed. 

In reality, she felt neither, her only sensation being one of absolute and bone-chilling emptiness. Her life, she knew, was spent, as if she had died in the wreck that must have claimed Alan.

There was an open pot of sweet-smelling ointment, sitting untouched on the table in front of her. Her captors has seen fit to furnish her with a selection of medications to treat the minor cuts and bruises she’d picked up on her journey from Biorn’s camp to the city, but her overwhelming sense of uselessness had stopped her before she’d tended a single scratch. Her only thought was that she was merely ensuring that, when the priests had finished with her, she'd make a prettier corpse.

The bottles of perfume remained where she had found them at the head of the bath. Perfume should be worn to please the man a woman loves. It should be saved for happy, not sad occasions.

She had been hungry, but sorrow had robbed her even of her appetite …

The mouse she had propped up against the mirror caught her eye. She looked at it, feeling the knot of grief in her throat, hearing his voice again:

_“I used to call her Kitten … silly, isn’t it? … the last thing she ever gave to me before she …died … Look after the mouse for me. I’ve an Eagle to take care of … look after the mouse for me …”_

She closed her eyes, turning from the mirror and running blindly to the balcony. She leaned against the top of the low wall that ringed it, looking down into the busy city. The streets, flooded with shadow as the sun dipped nearer the horizon, stared mockingly back at her. She looked up into the crystal-clear sky, seeing the first pinpricks of starlight winning out over the glare of the hot, red, sun.

Stars.

Stars that Alan had shown her …

She shook her head, too downcast even to cry. Slowly she returned to the bedroom, picking up the precious little mouse as she passed the make-up table. It was no use, she thought. She would have to seek comfort in sleep, warming herself between silken sheets, beneath and animal-fur blanket. Secure from the pain and terror in a womb of her own creation.

Perhaps Alan will return to her in her dreams, giving them time to do together what they had been denied when they first met. To talk and laugh, to walk in the moonlight through sweet, green meadows.

To make love …

* * *

Carter must have fallen asleep, for he was suddenly aware of a frenzied rapping on the transparency above him.

“Huh? Wassamatter?”

He blinked the sleep-grains from the corner of his eyes, to find himself peering into the frowning face of Koenig.

“Yeah, Commander. What is it?”

He frowned, looking at the strangely dark viewscreen.

“What time is it?” he said, getting awkwardly to his feet and stretching the stiffness from his back.

“Almost dawn,” began Koenig.

“How long have I been asleep?”

The other man smiled. “Hours,” he said. “You must have needed it.” He nodded at the screen. “Something’s happening. There’s been a crowd gathering round the pyramids for some time now.”

Carter cupped his hands around his eyes to kill his reflection on the inside of the cylinder and studied the image on the screen. The square before the towers, lit by hundreds of blazing torches, was indeed ringed with people, civilians, he noted and soldiers. Every half-dozen paces was a black-uniformed guard, a short, stabbing sword clasped in his gauntleted right hand, the naked blade striking catchlights from the flickering torches.

“Looks like and American presidential rally,” observed Carter, drily.

“Only here we inaugurate a god, Captain,” boomed Astra’s voice, as the wall behind them cranked open, flooding the chamber with yellow light. The alien advanced, the lights dimming behind him. He approached the console, the protective cylinder sliding unbidden into the ceiling. The tube over the table also lifted, though it did not surprise Carter to see that his prison stubbornly refused to move.

“You will place the device about your neck, Commander,” said Astra, the comment coming less as a command and more as a statement of fact. Koenig lifted the box and, aiming a mistrustful look at the alien, fastened the strap about his throat.

Astra was tapping at controls with an almost bored nonchalance. Finally, he turned to face them.

“Go up to the dais, Commander,” he instructed, “but do not stand on it.” He glanced at the screen. “This requires split-second timing. We must interrupt the ceremony at precisely the right moment.”

“Before or after the girl is murdered?” asked Koenig, icily.

“Before, of course,” replied Astra, mild surprise in his voice. “How else would you be able to perform the sacrifice?”

Koenig’s jaw dropped.

“Perform ..?” he began, “You’re saying that I will be the one to use that knife on her?”

“Certainly. As bringer of the word of Astra it will be expected of you …”

“Tell him to go to hell, Commander,” shouted Carter.

“If you wish to see this man and the rest of your people again, John Koenig, you will do as I say, to the letter, and without hesitation.

“Don’t do it, Commander,” urged the astronaut. “I’m not worth it …”

“Be silent!!” yelled Astra, angrily. Carter flinched as blinding lights flashed about him, and the acrid stick of an electrical discharge tainted his senses. A simple, and probably harmless, display of fireworks, but effective none the less.

"The ceremony has begun,” continued Astra, nodding at the screen. “Take a look, gentlemen, at your first glimpse of my newest bride …”

* * *

Verdeschi leaned into the shadows that wreathed the doorway, shivering as the cold night air plucked at the thin clothing he wore. He watched the crowds of people that had been flooding into the square over the past couple of hours, thankful that no-one had decided to challenge his presence.

“Tony?” hissed a voice. Right hand closing over the butt of his laser, he looked cautiously about himself, relaxing a fraction as he saw Ebron emerge from a know of people and walk towards him.

“Cum,” he said. “Tag veh kurs …”

Verdeschi nodded and followed the native as he pushed through the crowd. Moments later, they reached the edge of the square, with just a thin line of black soldiers between them and the sacrificial towers.

The Alphan studied the scene carefully. The nearest solder was standing less than two metres away, directly in front of him, his back to the crowd. A good three metres either side of him were the next two guards in the line, this spacing being repeated about the entire perimeter of the square.

To his left, the three great pyramids rose into the sky, towering grandly above the distant horizon. To his right …

“Ebron,” he whispered, seeing movement before a low, thick-walled structure that seemed to share kinship with the Master Blockhouse at Rockwell’s engine test facility back in Clavius crater on Luna.

Verdeschi watched the group that had emerged from the building cross the courtyard and head towards the pyramids. Two guards, a gold helmeted priest and four, white-clad females, all but one wearing deep, all-enveloping hoods over their heads.

The lead female, the bare-headed one, tossed her hair as a gust of wind caught it, swirling it behind her. Verdeschi recognised her immediately.

“Etak,” he hissed, as she began to climb the sacrificial tower, the fingers of his right hand unfastening the strap that holstered his laser. 

“Don’t worry,” he breathed. “I’ll be right with you …”

* * *

Biorn, his sword drawn beneath his all-concealing cloak, made a mental measurement of the distance between himself and the nearest guard. Behind him, Skorr, his foot on the lowermost step of the sacrificial tower, watched Etak and her escort climb to its summit.

“be ready, my friends,” warned the Elder, softly. “We’ll wait until the very last moment. As the sun rises, it will blind our pursuers as we make our escape …”

“Biorn,” said Skorr, “the ceremony starts …”

All eyes swung to the summit of the tower, where Kemargian had begun his opening speech to the hushed crowd below.

“People!” he called, “This day we are doubly blessed, for, not only do we have a fine new offering to our Lord Astra, but she is an unbeliever, taken from the midst of her unholy and blasphemous friends to atone for her sins …”

“I’ll atone for nothing, you monster,” spat Etak, squirming in the grip of her guards. “Least of all for sins I did not commit.”

Astra, watching her on the great veiwscreen, chuckled to himself.

“My, my” he said, to no-one in particular. “This one does have spirit. Handsome, too.” He glanced at Koenig. “It almost seems a pity that you will have to kill her, Commander …”

He paused, noting the agonised horror on the man’s face.

“And kill her you will, my friend,” he said, evenly. “Or I’ll have the good captain behind you torn into little pieces and spread about the surface of the planet like so much rain …”

“Forget me, Commander,” Carter urged. “Save her if you can, but get yourself out of there …”

“I will not warn you again, human,” growled the alien, one index finger poised threateningly above a control stud. “You will do as I say, Commander. I can fill that chamber with fire or acid as easily as I can open that door. In seven seconds I can decompress it to any pressure I desire, including that of interstellar space. He can die quickly, or slowly, in any one of a thousand painful ways. But I guarantee he will die. Do you understand, Commander?”

“Yes,” said Koenig, hoarsely. “I understand.”

“Approach the dias, then. When the orange light appears, step into it. I will do the rest.”

Koenig aimed a final look at Carter, then faced the dais as, behind him, Astra turned to his console.

Back in the city, Kemargian had finished his words of bloodlust and all was silent. He looked towards the impending dawn, then glanced at the priest by his side. 

“The timing is good, friend Yrtourbogen,” he said. “Bring the girl forward.”

The helm nodded.

“The offering,” he began …

“Steady,” hissed Biorn, tightening his grip on his sword …

Verdeschi glanced sideways, noting with silent satisfaction that all about him were staring fixedly at the summit of the tower. He drew the laser, aiming it at the unsuspecting back of the nearest trooper …

The guards dragged Etak forward, her bare feet slithering on the cold, dew-dampened flagstones that ringed the altar. Evestregen reached forward, his gauntlet closing about the front of her gown …

“Steady, my people,” whispered Biorn. “Steady …”

There was a sudden, tearing sound, and Etak’s gown fell from her slim, sun-bronzed body …

“NOW!!” yelled Astra, eagerly, fisting a silvered switch-plate. In a shriek of power, the hypertube closed the subspace gap between the dais and the altar-stone.

“On your way, Koenig,” he commanded. “Your victim awaits …”

Biorn’s eyes widened as he saw the plume of energy grow before his daughter’s terrified form.

“By the stars,” he gasped, as Koenig’s white-suited figure materialised, quite literally, from thin air.

“What is it, Biorn?” called Skoor, as, about them, an awed gasp sprang from the panic-stricken crowd.

“I … do not know …”

“Commander!”

Verdeschi downed the guard before him and ran into to the square, his heart lifting as he recognised the friend and colleague he’d given up for dead.

“Tony,” whispered Koenig, amidst the confusion that reigned about the altar-stone.

Biorn, seeing Verdeschi’s laser claim another trooper, ordered the attack.

“To Etak, my people, he yelled, pulling the tie cord of his cloak, letting it fall unheeded to the ground behind him. “Slar, Skorr. Help Tony. Bring him with us …”

“Aye, Biorn,” affirmed Skorr. “Gladly. The man fights too well to leave to those butchers.”

Koenig, Kemargian, and, back in his domain, Astra, saw the attack almost at the same time.

“I am Astra,” exhorted the alien, over the voice-box about Koenig’s neck. “Stand back. I …”

One of Etak’s escort, confused and close to panic in the bizarre sequence of events he had been party to, drew his sword and, acting with an instinct his training had instilled into him, swung it at Koenig.

“No!!!” commanded Kemargian. “The unbelievers. They come for the girl …”

Koenig ducked the sword as it whistled past him, shouldering the guard aside and running to the edge of the tower, to see Verdeschi, the laser in his hand blazing urgently, as a trio of sword wielding natives dealt with the few soldiers that managed to get through his barrage.

Etak’s second bodyguard screamed as an unbeliever sword buried itself in his chest. Koenig side-stepped as Yrtourbogen pushed a maidservant out of his way, drawing his sword to attack him.

Astra, seeing his carefully forged plans disintegrating about him, shouted desperately into the voicebox transmitter, Koenig tearing at the fastener behind his neck as the alien’s words rumbled from the loudspeaker.

“People of Astra, listen to me … SQUEEEEECH!!”

Biorn’s sword sliced through the air and into the voicebox, shattering chunks of plastic from a wide gash in the casing. Koenig staggered backwards, realising that, but for the now useless box, he’d have lost his head. He collided with Etak, pushing her across the altar as, in a burst of colour, the sun appeared over the horizon, flooding them with a haze of orange light.

Kemargian, desperate to salvage something from the catastrophe that had befallen the ceremony, and, acting out of some terrible instinct, lifted the sacrificial knife, to plunge it into Etak’s breast.

“No!” croaked Koenig, shaking the dizziness from his eyes. His left arm swung, the hand forming a fist even as it connected with the side of Kemargian’s chest armor. The priest dropped sideways, falling almost under the sword of one of Biorn’s men. The native’s eyes narrowed, seeing the manifestation of all that he detested and feared. The sword lifted, aiming between the cheek-guards of the priest’s helm.

Yrtourbogen, seeing his superior’s plight, clubbed his opponent aside and leaped across the altar-stone.

“Kemargian ..!” he yelled.

The native reacted, shifting his sword to meet the man’s lunge. There was a sickening crunch, and the weapon buried to its hilt in Yrtourbogen’s chest. Seeing his chance,, Kemargian swung the sacrificial knife, slicing a fatally deep wound into the native’s side. Realising that his men ere losing, and badly, Kemargian concluded, with some reluctance, that now was the time for flight.

“Regroup,” he called, smashing a fist into the face of an unbeliever and vaulting the side-wall of the pyramid’s top.

The surviving priests, maidservants and soldiers, pursued by two or three of the more eager of Biorn’s men, ran from the tower and across the square, scattering shocked and puzzled civilians as they went.

“Leave them,” commanded Biorn, turning to face Koenig. Etak, relief flooding her tear-stained face, threw herself into his chest. He smiled at her.

“Welcome back, my daughter,” he said. “You are safe now …”

Koenig smiled, standing forward to greet his saviours.

Biorn’s answer was to swing his sword up the the Alphan’s throat. 

“Hold, thing of Astra,” he challenged.

“What is it, father?” said Etak.

“It is supposed to be a god,” he growled, “but I say otherwise. There is one sure test. To see if human blood flows in his veins …

Carter hammered against the sheet of crystal that held him.

“Astra, they’re gonna kill him ..!” he yelled.

“There is nothing I can do …” began the alien.

“Pick him up. Use that hypertube thing …”

“I cannot. It must be adjusted to the correct co-ordinates. The calculations take time …”

“Then let me go.”

“I cannot …”

“Look,” said Carter, “if they stick a sword in him I’m out a damn good friend, but you blow this whole shooting match. If the people see he’s only a man in a white suit your religion won’t be worth a red cent …”

Astra stared in fascination at the great screen.

“Very well,” he said, finally, throwing a switch. The cylinder glided into the ceiling. Carter sprang forward, heading, not for the portal above the dais, but the scarlet figure of Astra.

The being sensed his presence for, almost as he was upon him, he turned. Carter slammed into him, driving him up against the front of the console.

“Now, let’s see what a god looks like,” he said, pulling at the edge of the cowl.

“Oh my god …” he began, as the material fell away. He had prepared himself for every misshapen horror imaginable, but not in his wildest thoughts could he have expected anything like the sight that met his stunned gaze.

The head, that is, the part of Astra that had been concealed by the cowl, rocked drunkenly backwards and forwards. It was egg-shaped, approximately the size of a human head, but …

It was nothing, a featureless, oval dome, apparently a transparent shell filled with thick, drifting smoke stained the colour of arterial blood.

“Yes, Alan Carter, this is my true form. Intellect, soul, in a bio-mechanical shell. I am gaseous thought, pure, absolute, and practically indestructible, if the body-machine that supports me survives.” A gloved hand waved defensively, pathetically in front of him.

“Destroy me if you wish. You have that right …”

“For a being that is supposed to have studied the human race for thousands of years, you know precious little about us.” Carter glanced at the screen above him. Koenig still lived, but the desperate group that surrounded him seemed eager for his blood. “I want to kill you,” he continued, “but I won’t. What I will do is try to save John Koenig’s life, and if you try to stop me, compassion or no compassion, I’m going to pull that ugly head of yours from its shoulders and smash it into a thousand pieces, do you understand that, my dear Astra?”

“Understood,” the creature replied. “Understood …”

Carter released him, running towards the portal, as, on the screen, Biorn’s sword rose to deliver the fatal blow.

The astronaut popped into existence above the altar, his momentum carrying him into Biorn, pitching the pair of them across the upper rows of steps of the pyramid. 

Carter, finding himself kneeling across the other man’s chest, formed a fist, slamming it into the side of the man’s jaw.

“Hell’s teeth!” he gasped, as a bolt of pain tore through his arm.

With an angry snarl, the giant native pushed him over his head, to roll with a painful clatter against the legs of more of his followers. Before he could move, a dagger had been pressed against his throat and two sword-points jabbed against his ribs.

“No, Biorn,” sounded a fatigued, but vaguely familiar voice. “Friends. Amices di Tony …”

“Tony, you old … “began Carter, struggling to his feet. “Tony!” he yelled, seeing his fellow astronaut climbing the steps to greet him. 

“Alan, you dumb bastard, we thought you were dead …”

“Carole? Is she … And Helena? Did they, I mean are they …”

“Helena’s fine,” replied Verdeschi. “Where the hell did you come from?”

“We found this crazy alien scientist …” begand Carter, turning to point at the portal. There was a crack, the sound of matter annihilating as the hypertube collapsed, and, in a blaze of sparks, the portal disintegrated.

“Tell you about it later,” said Carter, wiping the bloodstains from his skinned knuckles onto the front of his shirt. “How’s Carole? Is she all right?”

“Alan,” began Verdeschi, “she’s …”

“Biorn!” yelled Slar, pointing across the street. “Domo di Astra!!

They looked, to see a great squad of fresh soldiers begin to pour from the buildings at the far side of the square.

“Veh!” commanded Biorn, picking up his sword. “Tony, cum amices di Tony …”

“Tony, give me that laser,” ordered Koenig. “Alan, go with the others. I’ll hold this lot off until you’re clear …”

“But Commander …”

“No arguments, Verdeschi,” he snapped. “I’m in command of this team. It’s about time I started earning my keep.”

“Go on, Tony,” said Carter. “He knows what he’s talking about …”

Carter turned, making to walk past Koenig. Instead, he swung a perfect roundhouse into the side of Koenig’s chin, dropping him as if he’d been pole-axed.

He picked up the laser, glancing at Verdeschi as he checked it was set on ‘stun’.

“Get him out of here,” he ordered. “He hasn’t had any sleep for days and he must be dead on his feet.” He smiled into Verdeschi’s outraged face. “Get him back to Helena,” he said. “I’ve a score to settle with this unholy mob …”

Verdeschi nodded.

“Okay, Alan,” he said. “You’re the boss.” He nodded at Ebron and Skorr. “Cum mu,” he said, indicating Koenig.

Carter turned to face the approaching soldiers as they lifted Koenig onto their shoulders and started down the other side of the pyramid. The city wall, and beyond it, freedom, were only a few short minutes away. Carter, determined to give them more than a fighting chance, lifted the laser towards the front rank of the advancing soldiers.  
Aiming carefully along the top of the weapon, he squeezed the handgrip, releasing the safety interlock, then depressed the trigger with his thumb.

The device uttered a tiny, defenceless hum, the beam tunnels glowed briefly, then died. Frowning, Carter pressed the trigger again, the device remaining mute in his hand.

“Dammit!” he muttered, backing from the lip of the tower, turning the weapon over to examine its handgrip. Too late, he saw the red ‘power low’ flag beneath the safety switch.

He looked behind him. The others were already out of sight. They were safe, but he had a long way to go before he was.

Something hissed through the air, to land with a metallic crack on a step below him.

“Arrows,” he breathed. “Real ones, this time. These guys are playing for keeps …”

The soldiers, puzzled by his sudden lack of response, finally realised that he was no longer armed, or indeed a threat to them. The front rank broke, reaching the foot of the pyramid and beginning to climb it, as, behind them, more bowmen began fitting shafts to their bows.

Deciding that discretion would prove to be the better part of valour, Carter turned and, hopping over the back-wall of the tower summit, began to run down the far side of the pyramid. He reached street level as the first of the bowmen reached its top and began loosing arrows at his unprotected back. Steel-tipped shafts striking the roadway about him, he ran along the street, anticipating a hit at every step.

He was less than three meters from cover when the arrow found its mark. He had seen the corner of a building some distance back, and was approaching it at a lung-bursting run when the shaft thudded into his right shoulder, the metal arrowhead prevented from penetrating deeper by the heavy spine across the back of the shoulderblade.

He staggered forward, clutching the corner of the building to prevent himself falling.

“Bloody stupid trick,” he gasped. “Hell, I’ve gotta get out of here …”

He leaned his good arm against the wall, out of sight, for the time being, of his pursuers, but conscious of their footsteps sounding behind him. He looked up, scanning the walls either side of the street …

“Oh my god …” he growled.

He had sought sanctuary in a blind alley …


	15. Chapter 15

Evestregen skidded to a halt behind the trio of bowmen standing just below the summit of the tower. Shielding his eyes against the glare of the rising sun, he watched the wounded Alphan around the corner of the building and vanish from immediate sight.

“Seal off that street,” he commanded, as the high priest’s footsteps sounded behind him. He turned to his colleague as more troopers clattered down the pyramid steps about them.

“We have him,” he announced. “There is no escape …”

“Yrtourbogen is dead,” hissed the priest, rounding the sacrificial stone. “Why did your archers not hit the man who helped his murderers escape?”

“But they did …” began Evestregen, following Kemargian down the sunward side of the pyramid. The high priest glanced at him.

“You hit him?” he said, frowning. “Where?”

“In the back. I saw the strike.”

“And still he ran?”

“Yes, Kemargian …”

“What kind of man is this ..?” muttered the high priest, darkly.

“If he is a man …”

Kemargian advanced upon the arc of troopers that sealed the entrance to the alleyway.

“If he is not a man,” he said, “then he is either a god or a devil, but if he is mortal …”

He paused, a thoughtful expression on his face as he knelt to examine a dark stain on the ground before him. Removing his right gauntlet, he wiped a forefinger through it, lifting the hand before his face to examine that tacky substance adhering to it.

“Blood,” he whispered. “Human blood, as red and mortal as mine.”

He stood, pointing into the alley.

“It is a man we seek,” he called, “and he is here, with no way to escape us …”

“Kemargian!”

Evestragen, walking the length of the line of troopers, turned to look towards his superior. The high priest saw immediately the horror in the man’s face.

“What is it ..?”

“If he is only a man, oh priest,” he said, pointing into the shadows of the street beyond him, “then explain this …”

Frowning, Kemargian walked forward, looking where the other man indicated. The alley was as he expected it. Three, un-scalable sandstone walls, enclosing a narrow courtyard recessed into the side of one of the palaces that surrounded the temple complex. He saw an open cart, the seril drawing it chained to an iron ring set into the roadway. Its massive jaws chewed contemplatively on a wad of fodder it had just dragged into its mighty mouth, as it aimed an expression at the priest that was both devastatingly bored and totally aloof. The best studied the might of Astra’s temple guard for a moment, then, with a disdainful snort, turned once more to the heap of vegetation that had been dumped unceremoniously in front of it.

But the creature that Kemargian had said was merely a man had gone. Vanished, so it seemed, into the very air itself …

* * *

Koenig’s first impression on resuming consciousness was that he was aboard a small and particularly unseaworthy boat in the grip of a ten-force gale. He blinked a pair of bloodshot eyes open as his head thudded for what felt like the thousandth time into a lightly padded slab of granite.

“Alan ..?” he called, hoarsely, seeing pinpricks of light glittering through the holes and tears in the flapping sheet of canvas some distance above him. 

“Commander?”

Koenig frowned. That wasn’t Alan. Sounded more like …

“Commander? You all right?”

“Tony! My god, I remember now.”

He tried to sit up, peering myopically across the bucking interior of what closer inspection revealed to be a cart.

“Sit still, Commander. We’re not far from the camp.”

A pair of shadowy shapes resolved out of the gloom before him, revealing themselves to be Tony Verdeschi and a stunningly beautiful, dark-haired girl.

“Tony …”

“Hiya, Commander,” replied the astronaut, leaning forward, a leather bottle in his right hand. “How’re you feeling?”

Koneig took the bottle, removed the stopper and took a mouthful of cool, earthy-tasting water. He swallowed it, then upturned the rest of the bottle’s contents over his head, feeling the shock of its coldness driving the cobwebs from the corners of his mind.

He handed the bottle back to Verdeschi, running a finger along the tender patch of skin on the side of his jaw, memory returning quickly, and with it a torrent of questions.

“Okay,” he demanded. “Who hit me?”

Verdeschi stowed the empty bottle and leaned back against the side of the cart, slipping a comforting arm about the girl’s waist.

“I’m afraid Alan did, Commander.”

“What in hell’s name for?” he growled, running his fingers through his hair. He frowned at the girl.

“Isn’t she ..?” he began. Verdeschi nodded.

“The sacrifice? Yes, Commander,” he said. “Her name’s Etak,” he added, smiling at her as she slid an arm about his waist, pulling him closer to her. He glanced at Koenig.

“She’s a friend of mine,” he explained, a little unnecessarily.

“So I see,” said Koenig, noting that, beneath an animal fur blanket draped across her shoulders, she was still, apparently, as naked as she had been during the ceremony. Suddenly he smiled.

“Etak,” he said, looking into the girl’s face.

“Etak,” she replied, returning the smile. “Mu Etak,” she added, poiting to him. “Su?”

“John,” he said. John Koenig.”

“Johnkoenig,” she repeated, running the name into one word.

Koenig grinned. “Yes,” he said, nodding at her. “Johnkoenig it is …” He glanced at Verdeschi.

“How’s Helena and Carole?”

“Helena’s fine,” replied the Alphan. “She’s in the camp we’re heading for …” Verdeschi paused, looking into the floor of the cart. The movement was not to pass unnoticed by the older man.

“What’s wrong, Tony?” he prompted. “Something happened to her?”

Verdeschi glanced at him.

“The camp was attacked by soldiers from the city. They kidnapped Etak and Carole …”

“And Carole’s still in the city somewhere?”

Verdeschi nodded.

“To be used as an offering to Astra?”

“Yes. Biorn – he’s the boss of the tribe, Etak’s father – he thinks they’re going to use her in a really big ceremony just over a week from now.”

“Does Alan know?”

Verdeschi shook his head.

“He didn’t follow us when we escaped from the city. He took the laser to hold off the soldiers to give us a chance …”

“Damn,” whispered Koenig, softly. He glanced at the other two, face suddenly dark and thoughtful.

“Tony,” he began, “can we ..?”

“Etak!” called a voice beyond the canvas tilt that hid the rest of the world from their eyes. “Tony. Hi kaster di Biorn!”

The cart lurched to a lopsided halt.

“We’ve arrived,” commented Verdeschi, simply.

“Biorn,” called a female voice. “Tony veh di urbo …”

Koenig’s eyes widened in amazement.

“Helena,” he said. “By all that’s wonderful …”

Verdeschi, revelling in the other man’s happiness, smiled as Koenig stood and, tearing the canvas cover aside, climbed over the back of the cart. Etak, a puzzled look on her face, watched him go, seeing him approach the silver –blonde haired stranger who cared as much for the natives in the camp as she did for her own people.

What Etak did not see was the sudden, surprised expression on Verdeschi’s face, and the glazing of his eyes as the unchecked drugs Helena had given him began to fight the body they had sustained for so long …

As if some sixth sense had warned her, Helena turned as Koenig dropped from the cart. Her mouth opened, her face a mask of disbelief.

“John ..?” she said, in a tiny voice.

The bruised, unshaven face creased with a wide and sincere smile.

“Helena …” he began, taking a single pace towards her.

It was enough to snap her out of her trance. With a sob of relief, she threw herself into his arms, shameless tears of joy coursing down her cheeks.

“It’s okay, Helena,” he whispered, tenderly stroking her hair, as if only his touch could convince her he was still alive.

“John,” she breathed. “Oh, my god, I thought you were dead …”

“It just shows you how wrong doctors can be these days …” he said. “Now,” he added, “what’s all this Tony’s been telling me about ..?”

“Tony?” Helena drew back from him, looking into his eyes. “You’ve seen him?”

Koenig frowned, seeing the concern on her face. 

“Yes,” he said, turning towards the cart, “he’s with …”

“Helena!”

Etak, tears in her eyes as grief washed across her face, leaned over the open rear of the cart.

“Yo, Etak,” began Helena, “Ke ..?”

“Tony,” replied the native. “Es veh morta …”

“What is it, Helena?” called Koenig, as she ran towards the cart. “Do you understand her?”

“It’s Tony,” she said, over her shoulder as she climbed into the cart. “She says he’s dead …”

* * *

Evestragen waved an arm about the deserted street.

“There, Kermagian,” he demanded. “If he is not a god, where is he?”

The high priest aimed a dark look at his suddenly over-eager subordinate.

“Search the city,” he snapped. “If he is here, he shall be found.”

“And if he is not found?”

Kemargian frowned.

“What are you suggesting, Evestregen?”

“Merely that if he is more than you seem to think he is, precautions shold be taken …”

“Meaning another sacrifice?”

“Perhaps …”

“And what does that mean?”

Evestregen studied the high priest with a critical look in his eye.

“Correct me if I am wrong, oh priest,” he said, “but have not the last two ceremonies that you have presided over ended in failure and disgrace to our Lord Astra?”

Kemargian’s fists clenched in silent rage as he glared into the other man’s eyes.

“You are reminded that I am still high priest to Astra,” he hissed.

“Yes, Kemargian,” agreed Evestregen, calmly. “Of course you are.” He turned, walking along the alley towards the main street. “For the time being …”

* * *

Carter watched Kemargian follow Evestregen from the alley, exhaling with a heartfelt sigh of relief as the black-cloaked priest marched stiffly around the corner of the building and out of sight.

A vast shadow fell across him. He pressed his face against the ground as the seril bit into the greenery that covered him, hearing the rumble of its breath in its cavernous throat, and smelling the overpowering stench of partially digested foliage.

As the shadow moved, he kicked backwards, crawling out from beneath the pile of fodder before the beast could take a chunk out of his back.

He stood up, backing against the wall as the creature gave a whinnying snort of protest.

“Steady,” he said, taking to it as if it were a pony with its first saddle on its back.

Keeping a wary eye on the animal that had, albeit unwittingly, saved his life, he put a respectful distance between them, conscious at all times of the remains of the arrow emerging from his back, and the great patch of blood that stained his tunic. He looked towards the mouth of the ally, focusing on the building beyond with mind-swimming effort.

“No use,” he murdered. “Can’t go on like this. Must find somewhere to get this shoulder seen to …”

He limped to the end of the alley, glancing cautiously into the street. He was only mildly surprised to see it deserted. The civilians would be home, pondering on the events they had seen. The soldiers, hopefully, would be searching elsewhere.

Breathing a heartfelt sigh of relief, he ran a tired hand over his face, wiping away the beads of perspiration that pain had wrung from his forehead. With his left hand, he reached over his shoulder, shuddering at the jolt of pain that boiled through him as his fingers, numb with shock and loss of blood, brushed the few, short centimeters of shattered arrow that protruded from the wound. Where the rest of it had gone was anyone’s guess, including Carter’s. Perhaps that six-legged monstrosity had bitten through it, considering it to be nothing more than a thicker-than-usual pieces of twig …

He leaned around the corner of the building. The street was still deserted. Australians always were a charmed breed, he thought, as he walked unsteadily along the paved pathway skirting the block of buildings beside him.

He squinted at the ground, feeling the overwhelming gleam of the rising sun burning down upon him. His most immediate desire was the strength to keep him upright for just a few minutes longer, to give him time to find and empty stable or deserted store-house so that he could rest up and give his battered body a much-needed rest.

Either that, or somewhere quiet to die in peace …

“Don’t be such a bloody idiot, Carter,” he growled. “You’re not finished yet …”

Something appeared to be wrong with his feet, he was having difficulty keeping them beneath his centre of gravity. He went sideways, fetching up hard against the wall with his left shoulder. The impact shifted the arrow-head embedded in his back, exploding a curtain of flashing lights through his brain. Clutching vainly at the wall for support, he tumbled to the ground.

“No good,” he gasped. “Gotta find somewhere to rest …”

He pulled himself giddily, painfully to his feet, his right hand, blood draining down the arm into his palm, clutched to his chest. _How many pints was it? Eight? Ten? Give it a couple of minutes and there wouldn’t be much left …_

“Hey, ke su ..?”

A figure, wearing brown coveralls, breastplate and open-fronted helm, stood from a doorway set into the wall just ahead of him. The man frowned, studying the Alphan closely.

“Homino di Astra,” he hissed, standing forward, his sword glittering in his hand. 

Carter had neither the strength nor the inclination to run or fight. He did neither, watching as the man advanced. Sensing trickery, he paused, the tip of his sword wavering uncertainly over Carter’s chest.

He relaxed his right hand, letting it swing past his hip. A pool of collected blood spattered across the path. A look of horrified fascination on his face, the man looked to the line of scarlet patches that had already begun to soak into the parched ground.

Carter threw a short, instinctive punch. It landed with a satisfying thud between the cheek guards of the helm, dropping the man without a sound. The Alphan recoiled as the blow shook his frame. Blackness shimmered about him as his opponent sprawled across the pavement. He fell to his knees, his right arm collapsing beneath him as he struggled with the waves of unconsciousness that threatened to possess him.

The shadows of the doorway beckoned, offering comforting, mind-soothing darkness. He clawed upright, stumbling over the downed native and through the opening. Something deep inside him urged him to close the heavy, metal-studded door, to shut out the sun, to seal him off from the light and the heat of the unshaded street beyond.

The door hammered closed. He pressed his forehead against it, savouring the coolness of the wood, watching the colours die from his mind, swirling to green and blue and grey and black …

* * *

“And I tell you only a sacrifice –a complete sacrifice – will appease Astra this time.”

Evestregen crossed the chamber, pointing a stubby finger at the gold-handled knife that Kemargian had placed so tenderly onto its plinth.

“This is a sacred instrument,” he said, glaring at the high priest. “To deny it of its destiny is to invoke the wrath of our Lord Astra. He demands satisfaction …”

“I am of the opinion,” said Kemargian, coldly, “that it is less Astra and more you that is demanding this course of action …”

“That smells of blasphemy, oh priest. I could have you whipped were you a man of lesser rank.”

“I know you covet this position I hold, Evestregen, but do not presume to take the golden cloak as your own until I am deposed …”

“Unless action is taken soon I shall perform that task myself, and with the greatest of pleasure …”

Kemargian glanced at the other man, seeing the rage in his eyes.

“You believe,” he said, slowly, “that a sacrifice is needed?”

“That and nothing else,” he replied. “To show to Astra that we remain faithful to him. That is all I ask. Sanction it, and I return to your side as colleague one more, as faithful as I ever was.

Kemargian nodded.

“Very well, then,” he said. “Agreed. It must be the only way.”

He looked into the other man’s face.

“You have a candidate for the offering?” he said.

Evestregen’s head tilted, indicating the affirmative.

“The yellow-haired blasphemer we captured with Etak …” he began.

“I requested her for the solstive,” reminded Kemargian.

“Yes, I know. But the need here is greater.” Evestregen walked towards the balcony, looking out at the strangely quiet city.

“Give her to Astra,” he said, evenly, “and he will forgive our sins …”

* * *

Carter inhaled deeply, fighting the darkness that threatened to engulf him.

“Oh, no,” he told himself, forcing his aching eyelids open. “You’re not safe yet …”

He pushed away from the wall, watching the dimly-lit stairwell stablise about him. There was no other doorway but the one he leaned against, a narrow flight of stairs ascending to the gloom above. His eyes narrowed as he contemplated them, taking stock of the sensations that suffused his frame. His right arm and shoulder were numb, though the flow of blood from the cut had, for the time being, stopped. He clenched his left hand into a fist, grimacing at the gashes across his knuckles.

He pulled a wry smile. His opponent had not been let off so lightly …

He looked up the stairs again.

“Well,” he grunted. “Onward and upward …”

He began climbing, hearing the throb of his heart as the blood pounded through his temples. He paused on the first landing, a whining in his ears rising to deafen him.

He exhaled sharply, massaging the stiffness from his right forearm.

“Come on, come on,” he urged. “Another flight. Just another little flight …”

He resumed his climb, feeling himself grow weaker with every step. By the time he reached the second landing, he was deaf and blind to everything but the next step. Details blurred into one, continuous round of numbed dizziness, as he wavered upon the tenuous line between consciousness and unconsciousness.

Time no longer had any meaning. For all he knew, he’d been walking for hours. It certainly felt like it …

Something dark and hard appeared across his path. He blinked stupidly at it, until he realised that it was another door.

“You’ve done it, Carter, you stubborn …” he breathed, clawing at the wall as a wave of nausea threatened to pitch him backwards.

His bruised fingers found a catch, releasing it with a crisp snap. He pushed with the heel of his hand, and the door shifted, swinging back from the frame.

A brilliant halo of sunlight washed about the edges of the panel. After the darkness of the tunnel, it burst like a supernova before him. He lifted his hand before his eyes, squinting between the fingers.

“What the ..?”

He stumbled over the threshold, finding himself on a flat, red-tiled roof. A gust of wind whipped about him. He leaned back, feeling a sudden attack of vertigo threaten to drag him from his precarious perch to the unforgiving street almost twenty metres below.

He looked back towards the doorway behind him. He’d come too far to go back now, but where could he go from here? He risked another look over the edge of the roof. A couple of metres below him, a wide balcony, ringed by a decorative balustrade, jutted out from the red, sun-washed wall.

He frowned. Were he uninjured, the drop would present no problem. But, with an arrow in his back …

“Hell. I’ve no bloody choice …”

He dropped to his knees, then laid on his stomach, parallel to the edge, his injured side outwards as he supported himself with his left arm. He breathed deeply, steeling himself physically and mentally for the jolt of pain he knew would come when he landed.

He pushed sideways, sliding from the roof. His bare feet hit the marbled floor of the balcony, twisting away from him as he collapsed, a firebrand of pain whipping across his back as oblivion descended …

* * *

Carole sat upright with a start. She looked towards the balcony of her bedroom, her heart in her throat as she listened vainly for the sound that had awoken her to repeat itself.

Throwing aside the bedclothes, she stood and, glancing about herself, advanced upon the curtains that hung between her and the hot, new day. Her eyes were drawn to one of the slender, metal incense stands, thin wisps of smoke still curling from the bowl on its top. She picked it up, tipping the glowing twists of fibre from it, holding it nervously before her.

She jumped as something twitched the curtain.

“Who is it?” she demanded, in a trembling voice, firming her grip on the hard iron of the stand. “Come on out, or I part your hair with this …”

A bruised and bloodstained hand, the knuckles gashed and grimy, wrapped itself around the edge of one of the curtains. Her heartbeat thudding deafeningly in her breast, she watched as the skein of material was drawn aside, revealing the battered figure of what had once been a ruggedly handsome man.

“Huh … hiya, Kitten,” he croaked, a tired smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Alan!” she whispered, dropping the stand, a look of desperate horror on her face.

“Oh, my god. What … what happened ..?”

“Had an argument with a whole mess of temple guards,” he explained.

“You’re hurt …”

He nodded. “I guess you could say that,” he agreed, hoarsely, seeing the pain in her eyes. “I’ll be all right …” he added, forcing reassurance into his words in an effort to ease her torment.

He would have succeeded, but for his right leg suddenly skidding out from beneath him, pitching him unceremoniously onto the floor at her feet.

Glacial fingers clawed at her heart as she saw the splintered shaft emerging from the wound in his back.

“Alan …” she began, taking a faltering step towards him. “Alan!” she called, kneeling by his side, cradling his head against her shoulder.

“Be … all right …” he murmured, looking at her through bloodshot eyes. “I’m gonna … be … all …righhh …”

He relaxed, his head sagging onto her chest as, his body spent, he relinquished his hard-fought grip on consciousness.

“Alan? Alan?!”

She bent to listen to his chest. The heartbeat, although faint, was there, beating steadily. She pulled an arm from beneath him to lift his head.

“Oh, my god, no …”

She stared at her hand, the fingers glistening with his blood, feeling her tears once more on her cheeks.

“Alan,” she whispered, wiping a lock of hair from his forehead. “Don’t die. Please, don’t die …”


	16. Chapter 16

Helena kneeled beside the ashen-faced form of Verdeschi as Koenig climbed over the tailgate of the cart. Elnhe, a shocked expression on her face, appeared behind him.

“Medikit, Helena?” she called, aiming a concerned look at the unconscious man.

“Yo, Elnhe,” she replied, the fingers of her right hand probing for a pulse as those of her left lifted an eyelid. Koenig glanced into the doctor’s face as the native ran from the cart.

“What is it, Helena?” he demanded.

“Paracetyl trauma,” she replied coldly. “He went on his rescue mission before taking the back-up drugs I’d left to handle the side-effects of the stuff I’d pumped into him earlier …”

Koenig looked towards the patient, only the shallow rise and fall of his chest serving to indicate that he was still alive.

“Is he going to be all right?”

She shook her head.

“I don’t know,” she said. “If it’s not too late, if we can get the right drugs into him in time …”

The metal casing of the medikit rattled into the back of the cart. Helena released the snaplocks as Elnhe sat on Verdeschi’s other side. Etak, a thunderstruck expression on her face, watched blankly as the doctor and her would-be-assistant fought for the life of the man she knew she loved.

Helena turned from the medikit, handing a fistful of disposable hypos to Elnhe. Bending over Verdeschi, she tore open his shirt, exposing his chest, neck and the top of his right shoulder.

“Hold his head back, John,” she instructed, palpating the side of his neck to locate the jugular vein. Koneig complied as she began taking hypos from Elnhe.

“Novacetamol,” she said, as it fired into the vein. “Painkiller for muscle spasms in his chest.”

She dropped the spent capsule, reaching for another as she located his carotid artery.

“Electrolytes to stabilise cerebral impulses,” she added, taking a final hypo. “And protein salts to help stop hemorrhaging when it starts.”

She sat back, unclipping the body-reader from her belt. She held it over Verdeschi, pressing its scan switch. A series of microwave pulses fanned out across his body, searching for telltale echoes that warned of torn and bleeding tissue.

She lifted the device efore her eyes and frowned into the reader plate.

“Well?” said Koenig, glancing from the astronaut’s ominously still form into her face.

“He’s covered in bruises,” she began, “but I don’t think there’s any serious damage.”

She looked into Koenig’s face.

“I’ve done all I can, John,” she confessed. “It’s up to him, now …”

“Okay, Helena,” he replied. “We’ll …”

“Tony …”

They both glanced toward Etak who, with little success, was endeavouring to hold back her tears.

“Ni morta,” she whispered. “Ni veh morta …”

* * *

Carter’s return to consciousness was a slow and dreamy trip. Like the hero of some Victorian romantic novel, he almost expected to awake in the tender, adoring embrace of the girl he had loved, lost and found once more.

He smiled to himself as he fought to focus his eyes past the warm, pink glow that misted about him. That, he thought, was the kind of thing that could only happen in novels …

Something began to resolve out of the protective, cotton-wooll universe his battered mind had created about him. Something …

A shadow fell across him, a vaguely recognisable silhouette crossing his field of vision. He tried to move his left hand, only now realising that he seemed to be lying, face down, on something soft, and warm, and … furry?

“…Alan …”

_What was that? Someone calling me ..?_

He tried to push himself upwards from whatever he was lyng on.

“No,” commanded the voice. “Stay there. You’ll open the cut again …”

_Stay where? Open what cut?_

With a last, titanic effort, he dragged his eyes open, focusing them on the object before him.

“Carole,” he gasped, as her image swam into his mind. “Oh, Kitten, it is you. You’re alive …”

“Alan,” she cried, kneeling beside him, putting her face close to his. “I did the best I could. Does it hurt? I don’t have any painkillers …”

He frowned.

“Does what hurt?” he said.

She looked blindly into his face, her mouth moving silently as she gathered her startled wits.

“I just dug five and a half centimeters of arrow out of your shoulder, including a metal arrowhead …”

“Oh, that,” he said, trying to roll onto his back. “Make an interesting trophy, I suppose …”

“Alan, please,” she called. “Lie still. I’ve bandaged your shoulder, but I’ve nothing to close the wound with. If you try to move, it’ll open again …”

He sniffed, suspiciously.

“What’s that? Perfume?” He glanced at her. “Whatever you’re wearing, it’s strong …”

“It isn’t me,” she confessed.

His eyes widened.

“It’s not me, I hope …”

“I’m afraid it is,” she said. “I don’t have any antiseptic. I used perfume – it’s got an alcohol base …”

He smiled, trying to coax a reaction from her downcast face.

“Well,” he said, “as long as I get the chance to have a bath before I get back onto the streets.” He gave another, tentative sniff. “Phew,” he added. “Reminds me of a place me and Tony visited last time I was on leave in Sydney …”

He glanced at her. No reaction.

“Where are we?” he said. “Come to think of it, where exactly am I?”

“You’re on my bed,” she said, quietly. “I think we’re in some kind of living quarters, attached to the temple…”

_What the hell’s wrong with her,_ he thought.

“Your room?” he noted. He threw her a lopsided smile. “That figures,” he said, seeking desperately to snap her out of the misery that seemed to possess her. “First chance I get to go to bed with a girl I’m unconscious before I can enjoy it …”

He paused, looking towards her as she turned away from him, her lips trembling as she tried desperately not to cry.

“Hey, Carole,” he said, suddenly. “What’s wrong? Did I say something ..?”

“No,” she said, painfully, “it’s all right …”

“Dammit, Carole, what is it?”

He began to roll onto his left side, trying to turn onto his back.

“Alan,” she called, leaning forward, placing a hand firmly, but gently on his forearm. “Please, lie still. You’ll start the bleeding again …”

“Look,” he said, propping himself up on his left elbow. “I can’t talk to you like this. Can’t I sit up against some pillows, or something?”

“I …” she wavered, “I don’t know …”

“Please?” he said. “Just to let me look at you. I’ll be careful with the shoulder …”

“Promise?” she said.

He nodded. “I promise.”

“All right, let me help you,” she said, sitting on the bed and arranging the pillows behind him. She put one arm around his shoulders and, slowly and carefully, helped him into a sitting position. He leaned back, exhaling thankfully as she rearranged the bed clothes over him.

“That’s better,” he said. “Now I can see you …”

He paused, a puzzled frown on his face. Lifting the sheet that covered him, he glanced beneath it.

“What happened to my overalls?” he said, slowly.

“I had to cut them away to get at your shoulder,” she replied, evenly.

“But … I wasn’t wearing anything underneath …” he began.

“Yes,” she replied, looking modestly to the floor. “I know …”

The left half of his face smiled, ruefully.

“I hope I wasn’t too much of a disappointment,” he said.

He paused, seeing the look in her eyes.

“What is it?” he said, softly. “Carole, is there anything wrong?”

“Back on Alpha, I heard the explosion aboard the Eagle. When we went aboard, I thought you had been killed, or burned. When we landed here, I thought you’d died in the crash. Now you’ve an arrow in your shoulder and been so badly beaten up I hardly recognised you.”

She sniffed a knot of pain from her throat, wiping a teardrop from her cheek with the back of her hand.

“Where’s it all going to end, Alan?”

“Carole … Kitten, look, I’m going to be all right …” He paused, frowning. “I am, aren’t I?” he said. “I mean, you saw the wound …”

She nodded.

“I bathed and dressed the cut. The shoulder-blade stopped the arrow going in too deep, and I think it missed all the important nerves and blood vessels.” She glanced at him. “Not that anatomy is one of my strong points …”

“You’re the prettiest piece of anatomy I’ve seen in a long time,” he said, reassuringly. “Relax. With you to take care of me, I’m going to be just fine.” He smiled at her, to be rewarded with the merest glimmer of a smile in return.

“Do you want something to drink?” she said, haltingly. “You’ve lost a lot of fluid one way or another, including one, maybe two pints of blood.”

“Anything, Kitten,” he replied, softly.

He followed her with his eyes as she crossed the room, seeing in her all the grace and beauty of womankind. She approached one of the low tables, taking from it a squat, glass decanter. Removing the stopper, she poured the sparkling amber fluid into a pair of glasses.

She returned the decanter to the table, handing one of the glasses to him, watching him take a sip of the golden spirit.

“It’s good,” he said, looking towards her, seeing her glass, the wine untouched, in her hand. “Try some.”

“Uh, no,” she began, “I don’t think I want any …”

He tilted his head towards her.

“It’s your wine,” he reminded her. He looked into her eyes.

“What’s wrong, Carole?” You can tell me.”

“Do you know what this place is?” she said, simply.

He shook his head, frowning.

“Part of the temple, isn’t it?” he replied.

She nodded.

“But it’s more than that,” she said. “This is the house of Siva. It’s where the offerings to Astra live before they are sacrificed …”

“You mean, you’re …”

She nodded.

“I’m dead, Alan. Any time now I’m expecting the priests to come for me …”

“And you’re going to sit here and let them do it?” he said, angrily.

“I thought you were dead, Alan. I didn’t care what they could do to me if I couldn’t be with you …”

“But …”

“Don’t you see?” she said. “You’re hurt. There’s nothing you can do. They’ll kill you if they find you here …”

“The hell they will …” he began.

“But what can you do? Look at yourself, Alan. You can hardly walk, let alone fight …”

“I can have a damn good try,” he said, defiantly. “And there’s another thing you’re forgetting. The Commander, and Helena, and Tony, and their friends. They’re not going to leave me here, and they certainly wouldn’t leave you, not without some kind of effort to help us.”

“But if the priests can kill Etak …”

“Etak? Etak who?”

“The girl I was captured with …”

“Slim, dark brown hair, all-over tan?”

“Uh … yes. How did you know?”

He twisted his head, nodding at his shoulder.

“I picked this up helping a guy named Biorn rescue her. She’ll be back with her people by now …”

“With Helena and Tony?”

“And Commander Koenig.”

“Oh, thank god she’s still alive,” she breathed. “But I thought …”

“Where there’s life, Carole,” he said, quietly, “there’s just gotta be hope. Believe me …”

He smiled. She smiled back.

“Come here,” he said, patting the silken sheet beside him. “Sit next to me and tell me all about Biorn.”

She sat, as he slipped his right arm gingerly around her.

“There,” he said, drawing her waist towards him as her head rested against his cheek. “Feeling better?”

“What are we going to do?” she said.

He glanced at her.

“Isn’t that question just a little premature?” he replied, and amused glint in his eye.

“Not that,” she scolded. “I mean about the priests.”

He shrugged his good shoulder.

“I don’t know,” he said. “How quickly do you organise a sacrifice these days?” He looked at a shaft of light streaming between the curtains. It wasn’t even midday yet …

“These sacrifices seem to happen only at dawn,” he said.

“Which would give us at least another day,” she continued.

He patted at her nose with the forefinger of his left hand.

“And another night …” he reminded, tenderly.

She smiled, timidly, beautifully.

He kissed her lips, inhaling the warmth of her body, smelling her human-animal scent even over the perfume she’d dowsed him with.

“I though you’d been killed in the crashdown,” he confessed. “I could hardly think for worrying about you. You can’t begin to know how I felt when I saw you on that balcony …”

She shook her head.

“But I do, Alan,” she promised.

“I was ready to give up my life so John Koenig could save that girl …”

“Etak …”

“Yes. I must meet her, one day …”

He smiled at her.

“Don’t worry, Kitten. We’ll get out of this, somehow. All I need is a little rest for this shoulder and I’ll be as good as new.”

“The human body can do wonders to repair itself …” she began.

“Rubbish,” he snorted. “All it really needs is a beautiful nurse to get better for.”

“You say the most marvellous things about me,” she said. “I don’t deserve them …”

“You deserve them more than any other girl, ever,” he assured her.

“Thank you, Alan …”

“No thanks expected, Kitten.”

“Kitten,” she repeated, smiling. “I like that …”

“So do I,” he said, kissing her neck. She squirmed delightfully in his arms.

“Look,” she said, pulling the mouse from her belt, “you asked me to take care of it for you.”

“The mouse,” he grinned. “You keep it, Kitten. It’s like me. Loves the company of pretty girls …”

“Oh, Alan,” she sighed. “I do love you…”

Her voice stilled as their eyes met.

“Yes,” he breathed, honesty shining in his eyes. “I love you, too …”

Silently, he took the mouse, placing it on the bedside table behind him. He reached back to her, lifting her chin with the fingers of his left hand. Their lips met, tenderly, passionately.

“I want you, Alan,” she breathed, as they parted. “Ever since that first night on Alpha. To hold you, to never let you out of my arms …”

Her fingers brushed against his chest as she untied the waist-cord of her gown. He bent to kiss her neck as she slipped the film of material from her shoulders …

“No, Carole,” he said, softly. “It isn’t necessary …”

She frowned.

“What isn’t necessary?”

“To give yourself to me to show me you love me.”

Puzzlement lit her eyes.

“I don’t understand …”

“I love you, Carole, but I don’t need you to make love to me to show that you love me.” He smiled. “Real love is twenty-four hours a day, not a few, frenzied moments.”

“Oh, Alan,” she sighed. “That’s got to be the most beautiful, kind, tender, chauvinistic, pigheaded thing I’ve ever heard!”

“Carole?”

“You’ll be telling me next that love, spiritual love, is for caring humans, whereas animals just procreate and sex is simply an interesting way of passing the time.”

“Erm …” he began.

He grinned as he realised she was smiling at him.

“All you need is love,” he said.

“You could write a great song around that, you know,” she agreed.

He kissed her again.

“Thank you, Carole.”

“For what?” she asked.

“For being you. For being … Carole …”

She sighed, snuggling closer against him, winding a slender finger into the hairs on his chest.

“I know I don’t have to prove anything, Alan …” she began.

“Yes …” he said, an interested expression on his face.

“But I don’t think it would do any harm to our spiritual love if …”

“If what, Carole?”

“If we were ever to experience, shall we say, the baser aspects of our relationship ..?”

“Kitten, I thought you’d never ask,” he breathed, turning her towards him. Her eyes glowing, she smiled into his face, tenderly stroking the soft, dark mat of hair that covered his chest. He lifted the sheet that covered him, letting her slide beneath it to his side. He parted the folds of her gown, watching as the silkens sheet clung perfectly to every curve of her slender body.

He brushed a curl of hair from her cheek, noting the shine of her sun-kissed skin. _It’s true,_ he realised. _There is such a thing as a love-light …_

He kissed her. She returned it gladly, her lips moist and warm.

An almost unbearable tingle of excited anticipation trmebled down her spine as, with a touch as light as a cloud, he ran a finger down the front of her body.

“Remember that hole in my shoulder,” he warned, as she turned towards him, pressing herself against his body. “Just don’t get too carried away, that’s all.”

She kissed his throat.

“Okay, Alan,” she breathed. “Anything you say …”

* * *

Kemargien looked up from his desk as the trooper crossed the floor of his office, snapping smartly to attention before him/

“You have found him?”

“No, sir, he …”

“He what? Speak up, man.”

The soldier shook his head.

“He just vanished, sir. He’s nowhere in the city.”

“You searched every building, every storehouse, stable, every living block, every shop?”

“Yes, sir. He is no longer in the city …”

Kemargien shook his head.

“No, trooper. He is still here, I feel it in my soul.” He glared at the unfortunate man. 

“Get out,” he snapped. “You will search until you find him, until doomsday if necessary, but I want him found. Understand?”

The trooper nodded.

“Yes, sir …”

Evestregen marched grandly into the room.

“Is my lord’s search bearing fruit?” he said, sarcastically.

“You know as well as I do that it is not,” he growled. "All right, Evestregen, what do you want?”

“The sacrifice …”

“Yes, yes. You’ll have your golden-haired barbarian. But I still think her death will be such a waste, when we can maker her offering with the dignity she deserves at the solstice ceremony …”

“What does it matter that she goes to Astra in two or twelve days from now?” observed Evestregen. “All that is important is that she goes …”

“Yes,” said Kemargien. “That is what I believed when I offered Dalny to him.” He looked into the face of the younger man. 

“But why do I believe that it was such a waste, that her life – especially hers – could possibly appease a being such as Astra …”

Evestregen’s face darkened.

“Kemargien, those words are strange coming from you. Surely you see that only by offering those most dear to us, by making the sacrifices ourselves can we hope to be blessed by our god. Be thankful that we have the blasphemers to turn to in times of threat and fear.”

Kemargien nodded.

“Perhaps,” he said. “But, even after the destruction of our ceremonies at their hands, I can still respect them, for their faith, their loyalty to their own kind. And,” he glanced towards Evestregen, “their bravery. Imagine striking at us on our own temple pyramids, stealing the sacrifice from beneath our noses.”

The other man’s eyes narrowed.

“You respect our enemies?” he said. “You agree with what they do?”

“No. I merely appreciate that they, too, have their laws, their faiths and codes of conduct. Simply because they are different to ours doesn’t mean we have to destroy them …”

“But they are prime blasphemers, Kemargien. Remember the dictates of our god. ‘Thou shalt worship none other than me.’ Whoever the blasphemers worship, it cannot be Astra, for the chronicles demand blood sacrifice …”

Kemargien was silent for a moment, immersed in thought.

“Yes,” he said, finally. “Indeed, there is great blasphemy here.”

Evestregen smiled.

“I am glad you have seen the truth, my lord,” he said, turning to swagger from the room. He paused on the threshold.

“We have set the sacrifice for the dawn after tomorrow,” he said. “I trust the girl will be ready by then?”

“She will,” promised Kemargien. He watched as the other priest strode from his sight, then turned to look at the sacrificial knife, shining in an almost malevolent halo of light.

“I wonder,” he whispered, staring at the ritual weapon, “if the blasphemy that Evestregen sees is the same as that which I see …”

* * *

They lay in each other’s arms for what seemed to be an eternity, neither daring to break the aura of love and tranquillity that had surrounded them. Finally, it was Carole that spoke:

“Alan …”

He nuzzled her ear.

“Yes, Kitten,” he whispered, “what is it?”

“I, ah, I’ve got to …”

“Yes, of course. Go ahead. I’m being selfish …”

“No, you’re not. I could lie in your arms all day …”

He smiled.

“You only had to ask,” he said.

“Be back in a minute,” she whispered, sliding out from beneath the sheet. He watcher her pad softly to the bathroom, inhaling deeply. So beautiful, so …

He frowned as he noticed something on the sheet, a dark, damp stain.

“What the ..?”

He lifted the sheet, to see another, larger patch on the fur blanket beneath it.

“Blood ..?”

His first thought was that his wound had opened – he had allowed himself to get a little too enthusiastic – but no, the bandages were still dry to the touch …

“It’s me, Alan.”

“You? But how ..?”

She sat on the bed beside him, placing a hand on his chest.

“Like you said, there has to be a first time for everything …”

Realisation hit him with the force of a runaway Eagle.

“Oh, my god, Carole, I didn’t know. You should have told me …”

“Told you what?”

“That you are … were … Dammit, Carole, I didn’t want to hurt you …”

“You didn’t. Not very much, anyway. It was a sort of …pleasurable pain …”

Carter shook his head. “I don’t think I’m ever going to understand you women,” he said, tiredly.

“I should hope not,” she retorted, making herself comfortable beside him once more. “Think what a dull place the universe would be if everybody understood exactly what everyone else did …”

“Might make for less complication,” he suggested, stroking her naked back.

“Tell you what,” she said. “I’ll stay complicated, you stay dull, and we see who has the most fun …”

“That isn’t a very scientific attitude …”

“Who cares about science when I have a handsome Eagle pilot to explain everything for me?” she said, resting her head on his chest.

“Hey,” she whispered, “I can hear your heartbeat …”

“Great,” he observed, “Chalk up another breakthrough for medical science …”

“Do you know,” she said, mysteriously, “I can control your heart?”

“You can what ..?”

“Listen …”

Carter listened. _Control his heart? What ..?_

One, female fingernail began to trace light, indecipherable patterns on the front of his left thigh. Then slowly, almost imperceptably, they began to spiral closer, ever closer, to his groin …

“Okay, Carole,” he said, suddenly. “I’m convinced …”

She gave a tiny, squirming giggle of ecstasy. He kissed her, running his fingers down the soft, peach-down of her cheek.

“You sure I didn’t hurt you?” he asked.

“Of course I’m sure,” she replied. “Don’t worry.”

She looked into his eyes, a feline smile on her face.

“I just wondered,” she said, thoughtfully, “if it would hurt a second time …”

“Well,” he grinned. “There is only one way to find out …”


	17. Chapter 17

Astra studied the two intertwined bodies on the great bed, his fists clenching angrily at his sides.

“Damn you, Alan Carter,” he called. “Damn you in the names of all your formless, impotent gods. You shall pay, you and your brand new mistress, that I vow.”

A black-gloved fist smashed onto a control, dimming the viewscreen. Astra relaxed, leaning against the console before him, touching controls with a measured, almost fatal calm.

Another image formed. The interior of a stone walled room, its trappings declaring it to be that of a priest. A figure, a freshly-drained wine goblet in his hand, was seated before a wide, black-wood table.

“Evestregen,” he said, slowly. The figure sat up, looking anxiously about himself.

“Who is it? Show yourself. I am in no mood for games …”

Astra touched another control, seeing a plume of orange fire blossom about the chamber’s only door.

“Evestregen, do you recognise the light?”

The priest’s eyes widened in horror.

“Astra,” he whispered, overturning his chair as he stood to contemplate the terrible flame. “My lord, I beg forgiveness …”

“It is not you, oh faithful servant, who needs to beg.”

“My lord?”

“You are not high priest,” began the faceless being.

“No, my lord …”

”Yet,” he added, significantly.

Evestregen frowned. “My lord?”

“Kemargien has demonstrated his incompetence. It is time a new high priest was chosen …”

“You desire that I should be his successor?”

“That is correct.”

“But … but the high priest is chosen …”

“I know the chronicles, oh priest,” he reminded him. “But unusual problems call for unusual solutions …”

“You are suggesting … that I should kill Kemargien?”

“If the need arises, Evestregen,” replied Astra. “But remember that his is not without his friends. Kemargien must be disposed of, but not in a way that will turn the people against you, or the ways of Astra.”

Evestregen nodded.

“I understand, my lord,” he said, a confident smile beginning to wash across his face. He nodded into the column of orange light that blazed before him, his hand automatically closing about the hilt of the dagger at his hip …

* * *

With a squeak of alarm, Elnhe dodged back as the bowl of fruit shattered against the tent-flap. Turning, she looked towards Helena and shook her head. Koenig frowned at the ornately-patterned fabric of the tent.

“Etak?” he said.

Helena nodded.

“She’s been sitting by Tony’s bed ever since we took him from the cart,” she explained. “Now she won’t even let Elnhe go near him, let alone me.”

“If he’s missing out on any treatment …”

“There’s nothing more I can do, John,” she replied. “and I think Etak knows it. If this were Alpha, I could have him in a life support unit …”

“But this isn’t Alpha,” said Koenig, darkly. “Dammit, Helena, of all the cruel luck …”

“It’s not luck, John,” she argued. “It’s my fault. I should have stood over him until he took those tablets …”

“It’s no use blaming yourself, Helena. We’re all living on borrowed time. Not many people survive wrecks as bad as the one we did.”

“That’s not much comfort, John. If I let Tony die after all he’s been through …”

“Helena …”

Koenig shook his head. There was nothing else either of them could say.

“Keep an eye on them, Helena,” he requested. “I’m going to see if I can have a word with Biorn about Alan and Carole …”

“You could use a translator, John …”

“Tony?”

She glanced at the tent.

“I’ve given him all the help I can,” she replied. “My medical skill can go just so far. Etak can do as much for him now as anyone can …”

Koenig nodded.

“Understood, Helena.” He said. “Come on, let’s see if we can help Alan and Carole.”

They walked towards Biorn’s tent, each lost in his or her own thoughts. They crossed the hard-trodden ground, seeing their shadows lengthen as the sun sank towards the rooftops of the city.

Behind them, in the dimly lit interior of the tent, Etak maintained her agonised vigil over the comatose body of Tony Verdeschi …

* * *

Kemargien poured himself a goblet of wine and, walking towards the room’s balcony, looked towards the city, seeing the buildings glow with the reds and purples of the setting sun.

He turned as a hurried rapping sounded on the door behind him.

“Yes, what is it?” he called, impatiently.

The door swung open, to reveal the breathless figure of a temple guard.

“The man-god of Astra …” he began, hoarsely.

Kemargien frowned.

“What of him?” he snapped. “Has he been found?”

“No sire, but a guard we found unconscious after the attack has regained consciousness. He says he was knocked out by an injured man in a white suit …”

“Not by the escaping unbelievers?”

“That is what we thought at first, sir, but he is sure that it was the man Evestregen’s archers hit …”

“A guard, you said,” interrupted Kemargien. “Where was his post?”

“The entrance to the stairway to the roof of the palace of Siva …”

Kemargien’s breath hissed in his throat.

“Order a search,” he commanded, throwing the goblet across the room in his anger.

“The house of Siva ..?” began the trooper. “But men are forbidden to enter …”

“It’s a little too late to be worrying on that score, sergeant,” growled the priest, reaching for his sword and helm. “Search Siva’s palace,” he repeated, sweeping from the room. “If he is human, then he is there. And if he is there, then we have him …”

* * *

Carole was the first to awake, to find herself still cradled in Carter’s arms, her head against his cheek. She smiled as she looked up at him, seeing his profile outlined against the rays of the setting sun beyond the balcony, and feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath her hand.

She slid her fingers down his chest onto his flat, muscled stomach. Uttering a tiny sigh of contentment, she pressed closer to his side, savouring the touch of his body against hers.

She frowned as she heard the dull pounding echo from the corridor beyond her bedroom door. An urgent, menacing sound.

There came the first crash of bolts being withdrawn, and the clatter of armored boots against marble. Her heart trembled in alarm as, suddenly, inexplicably, she heard voices, both male and female, raised in argument.

“Alan,” she hissed, urgently, her hand on his shoulder.

No answer.

“Alan,” she urged. “Please. Wake up …”

“Uh?” he whispered, dreamily, blinking his eyes blearily at her. “Hey, Kitten,” he smiled, “I’d love to oblige, but even I have my limits …”

“No,” she insisted. “Not that. Alan, I think something’s happening …”

His eyes snapped open, suddenly clear and bright. He frowned, ears alert, straining for any strange sounds.

“Alan, I think …”

“Sush, Kitten. Let me think …”

He glanced past the curtains, drifting in a light, evening breeze, at the first pinpricks of light glowing in the night sky.

“We’ve gotta get out of here,” he said, softly, as the crash of overturning furniture echosed ominously from the floors below.

“But your shoulder …” she began, worriedly.

He threw the bedclothes aside, making to sit up.

“Make me a sling,” he said, shaking the sudden blur of dizziness from his brain. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat for a moment, breathing deeply.

He suddenly appeared to notice his nakedness.

“Uh, you’d better get me me something to wear, as well. I’m gonna attract too much attention walking about like this …”

He glanced at her, smiling warmly.

“Come on, Kitten, we’re not finished yet.”

“You sure you’re going to be all right?”

He nodded.

“I’ll be fine,” he assured her. “Please, Carole, get me some clothes, before I freeze to death …"

She climbed from the bed and stood beside it, looking towards the gown closet.

“All I’ve got are some relaxing dresses,” she said.

He shook his head.

“No way, Kitten,” he said, smiling into her worried face. “I may smell like a harem girl, but I’m sure not gonna dress like one.” He assumed a thoughtful expression, reaching beneath the bandage on the front of his shoulder. “Hey, what about those overalls I was wearing?”

“But they’re covered in blood.”

“So what?” he challenged. “It’s good, clean, Australian blood …”

“Alan …”

“Please, Kitten,” he said, looking into her eyes. “We don’t have much time.”

She nodded.

“Okay, Alan. Stay there. I’ll get it …”

He watched her as she crossed the room and entered the closet, to re-emerge, moments later, carrying his discarded overalls and wearing what appeared to be a filmy, high-waisted nightgown.

Carter smiled approvingly as he took the overalls, appearing not to notice the dark stain across the garment’s back.

“Beautiful,” he said, climbing into it, easing his weakened right arm carefully into its sleeve. “How have I missed you all this time, Carole? You’re the prettiest girl on Alpha …”

She smiled, modestly, looking down to the floor as he stood before her, the hurriedly- tied sling she had been making forgotten in her hands.

“Thank you, Alan, I …”

He leaned forward, kissing her suddenly, unexpectedly on her lips.

“Chin up, Kitten,” he whispered. “Here, give me a hand with that sling.”

She placed it over his head, guiding his arm into it.

He glanced towards the door.

“Locked?” he said, simply.

She nodded, retrieving her precious little mouse from the bedside table.

“I feel as if I’m in solitary all the time …” she began. He nodded, grinning widely.

“We soon fixed that, didn’t we?” he said, turning his attention to the balcony.

Her eyes widened in alarm as she realised what he was planning.

“You’re not going to try and get out there, are you?” she said. “It must be a fifty-foot drop …”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “But there’s another balcony a metre-and-a-half away …”

“But you’ll never make the jump …”

“Just you worry your pretty little head about you making the jump, Kitten,” he commanded, leading her onto the balcony. “I’m an astronaut. I ought to be able to take care of myself …”

“With a hole in your shoulder you could fly an Eagle through …” she began, hotly.

“Carole …”

“I haven’t wept over you, bled for you, slaved my heart out over you, to see you break your stupid neck trying to …”

“But Carole, I …”

“No buts, Alan Carter, this time I mean it …MMmmmph!?!?!”

He had adopted the only logical course of action open to him, embracing her tightly and closing her mouth with a firm, moist kiss.

He released her, letting her sag free as she caught her breath.

“Alan Carter,” she began, breathlessly, “if you think you can shut me up that easily …”

“Yes?”

His unique, lop-sided smile scored another direct hit on her defiance. 

She smiled. “Then you’re perfectly right …” she added, shaking her head helplessly.

_Charm the paint off an Eagle,_ Helena had said. _Perhaps she was right …_

He walked to the edge of the balcony, gauging the distance between it and its twin further along the wall.

“Think you can make it?” he said, looking at her. A pair of worried eyes looked back.

“Uh, I …” she began.

“Something wrong?” he asked, turning to regard the gap once more.

“I … I don’t like heights,” she faltered.

“And you volunteered for space duties?” he questioned.

She nodded. “I just don’t like high places,” she repeated.

He slipped a comforting arm around her shoulders.

“Okay, Kitten, don’t worry. It’s gonna be all right. I’ll go first …”

“But if you miss your step …”

“I won’t miss my step, Carole.”

“I’ll go first.”

He frowned at her.

“What?”

“I said I’ll go first,” she insisted. “You’ve only one good arm. If you overbalance you’ll need someone to stop you from falling.”

He glanced from the gap into her face.

“You sure?”

“Positive, Alan,” she replied. “I’ll be all right, just … just take care of that shoulder.”

He squeezed her waist reassuringly.

“Good girl,” he whispered.

“Alan ..?”

He looked into her eyes.

“Yes, Kitten?”

“I love you …”

He smiled.

“You keep saying that, Carole. I know.”

He patted at the tip of her nose with one finger, returning her smile. 

He held her hand as she climbed onto the parapet, then stood back as she checked her balance. A sudden gust of wind caught her gown, swirling it angrily about her. She swallowed her heart from her throat, looking towards him. Before she could give her nerve tine to crack, she ran along the parapet and launched herself into space.

She landed on the other balcony with an awkward clatter, her bare feet slapping noisily onto the marbled floor.

“Carole …” called Carter, anxiously. “You all right?”

“Uh, I think I twisted my ankle,” she answered, painfully, glancing about herself. Her eyes widened as she looked beyond the lazily drifting curtains with the balcony’s room.

“Hold on, Kitten,” call Carter. “I’ll be right there …”

“No, Alan,” she called urgently. Stay there …”

Too late, he was already on the parapet, starting the run that he must finish or topple to the unsympathetic street below.

He landed beside her, gasping with pain as he rolled onto his back. He sat up, shaking the glittering lights from his eyes, seeing the look of alarm on Carole’s face.

He turned, looking where she looked, in surprise and amazement.

As, in the other room, a dozen or more beautiful and elegantly-clad girls regarded him with equal surprise on their sun-kissed faces …

* * *

Kemargien’s fist closed around the door-curtain, tearing it aside. Beyond it, three naked girls, uttering petrified squeaks of alarm, dived into the sunken bath at the centre of the room, huddling together for mutual protection.

The priest gave a snort of impatience, turning to regard the mayhem his troopers had wreaked in the great entrance hall.

“He’s not here,” he decided. “We must search the upper levels …”

“And on whose authority do you dare commit this sacrilege?” boomed an angry, female voice. “This … this blasphemy …”

Siva, a flame-red gown misting about her, strode imperiously down the wide flight of steps at the far end of the room. She glared at Kemargien.

“Explain yourself, priest,” she demanded.

“I seek a man,” he called. “A fugitive from the law of Astra …”

“But for yourself and your evil black horde, you’ll find no men within this palace,” challenged the female, darkly.

“Wrong, Mistress Siva,” he said, walking towards her. “One of your guards was attacked. We have searched the rest of the city. The man can only be here …”

“Truly,” said Siva, sarcastically. “This renegade of yours must be a remarkable man, if he can remain here undetected for so long …”

She aimed a conspiratorial nod at the maidservants about her. Kemargian felt his nexk redden as a scattering of childish giggles sounded amongst them.

“You have a barbarian woman here,” he reminded her. “We believe he has come for her …”

Siva frowned.

“Barbarian?” she repeated. “The fair-haired blasphemer?”

The priest nodded.

“Very well,” Siva decided. “I will show you to her rooms. But if he is not there you will leave this palace immediately, and take your toy soldiers with you.”

“As you wish,” replied Kemargien, returning her sarcasm to the full. “Since you can so obviously protect yourself against the intrusion of we inferior males …”

Siva scowled.

“I shall not forget this, oh priest. This palace is my domain, the people within it under my protection.”

Kemargien aimed a significant glance at Siva’s entourage of maidservants.

“Protection?” he repeated. “Or merely substituting one threat for another …”

“You came to search for an intruder, Kemargien,” she hissed. “Not engage in a debate on the running of this palace …”

“You are the only one here preventing that search, oh Siva,” reminded the priest, acidly.

“Get on with it, then, and leave us in peace. And remember that it is the house of Siva that furnishes your precious offerings …”

Kemargien waved his squad of troopers up the great flight of stairs, glancing coldly into Siva’s face as he passed her.

“I tolerate your presence here only because you furnish the offerings that the Chronicles dictate we must make,” he growled.” My having to walk amongst you and your people is as distasteful to me as it is for you to see me here. Rest assured that my visit will be as brief as I can possibly make it. Now, show me the barbarian’s room. My people will see blasphemer’s blood spilt before another sunset …”

* * *

Evestregen cross his bedchamber, closing the clasps that held his cloak to his shoulders as he went.

“Guard!” he called, taking his helm from its stand as he passed it. He pressed the helm down onto his head as the black-garbed figure snapped smartly to attention before him.

“Where’s Kemargien?” he demanded.

“He is conducting a search for the blasphemer in the palace of Siva …”

The priest paused, eyes widening in surprise.

“Where?” he said, in amazement.

“The palace of Siva …” repeated the guard, uncertainly.

A thin smile appeared on his lips.

“Kemargien may have overstepped his authority, this time,” he decided. He glanced at the trooper.

“Assemble a squad of bodyguards,” he ordered. “I believe it may be to our advantage to join our illustrious high priest.”

He fired a curt nod at the soldier. The man saluted, then about-faced, marching from the room, a thankful, of somewhat puzzled expression on his face.

Evestregen watched the trooper leave, remembering again the words of Astra.

“Kemargien must be disposed of,” he said, softly. “all I need is justification in the eyes of the people …”

* * *

Etak shivered, only now noticing how cold the night had become. She stood and walked to the head of the low, fur-draped bed, looking tiredly into Verdeschi’s face.

_Strange,_ she thought, _he seems so calm, so peaceful. He doesn't even look unconscious, just asleep …_

She shook her head, overwhelmed by a feeling of helplessness. She sat beside him, reaching for the stack of bandages on his bedside table. Taking one, she dipped it into the bowl of water beyond, squeezing it almost dry in her hand.

She paused, the bandage hovering uncertainly over his face. It was no use, she felt so useless, but just had to so something, try anything to help.

She wiped the moistened fabric across Verdeschi’s forehead, recoiling in surprise as she saw him react to the sudden and unexpectedly cold stimulus.

“… Tony ...?” she faltered.

She touched the bandage to his cheek, her heart leaping with hope as he tried to pull away from it, a puzzled frown arching his eyebrows.

“Uh … what ..?” he began.

She threw the bandage behind her, reaching forward to place her hands against his face, cradling his head tenderly before her.

“Tony, es Etak …”

His eyes flickered open, the pupils reacting uncertainly in the dim half-light that glowed through the walls of the tent.

He smiled as he recognised her, seeing her dark and captivating eyes brim with tears of thanks.

“Etak,” he whispered, “you all right?”

Her lips closed on his, silencing him. His arms lifted from beneath the covers, winding automatically about he, drawing her to him.

She leaned into his shoulder, weeping silently, surrendering herself totally to her emotions.

“Etak,” he said softly, caressing her naked back. “What is it? What’s wrong ..?”

“Mensa su veh morta, Tony,” she sobbed. “Mensa se veh morta …”

“Morta ..?” he frowned. “Dead? Who’s dead?” He looked towards the door-flap. “Helena …” he began.

She placed a finger on his lips.

“Ni, Tony. Ni Helena. Su. Mensa su veh morta …”

“You thought … I was dead?” he said, understanding her at last. “Mu kedo?”

“Yo, mensa su kedo di Astra.”

He smiled, brushing an unruly curl of hair from her eyes.

“Ni kedo Tony,” he said, kissing her, tasting the salt deposited by her tears across her cheeks.

“Ni morta Tony,” she replied, returning the kiss, warmly, gratefully.

His fingers traced across her back. He frowned, feeling the icy smoothness of her skin.

“Hey, are you cold ..?”

“Cold?” she repeated, uncertainly.

He reached beside him, fingers closing on a handful of bedclothes. Freeing the edge of the topmost blanket, he threw it across her, wrapping her protectively in it.

She looked into his face and smiled.

“Tony,” she whispered. “Streng homono.”

She sat up, then stood from the bed, looking impishly into his face.

“Bona u mense di Etak,” she said quietly.

“I …” he began. “I need a translator, that’s what I need,” he replied, shaking his head blankly.

She opened the blanket, draping it once more across him. He felt the jolt of adrenaline fire into his system as he realised, for the first time since regaining consciousness, that she was as unclad as she had been when he faced the sacrificial knife.

She ran a slender fingertip along the line of his jaw.

“Etak aman Tony,” she reminded him, her voice calm, her eyes bright.

“Yo,” agreed Verdeschi, feeling his pulse quicken, and the strange, hollow pang of anticipation in the pit of his stomach. “Tony aman Etak …”

He lifted the bedcovers as she slid beneath them, surrendering herself not only to him, but to her own desire.

He drew her closer, her arms tightening about him in a totally committed embrace.

“And to think I needed an interpreter …” he muttered, kissing her again …


	18. Chapter 18

The Captain of Evestregen’s bodyguard halted beside the ruins of the great doorway to Siva’s palace as the priest strode thoughtfully over the threshold.

“Mistress Siva,” he called.

“What’s this?” she replied, angrily, from her vantage point on the stairway before him. “Have the high-priests of Astra chosen to compound their blasphemy by seeing fit that every male in the city has free run of the palace ..?”

Evestregen bowed stiffly from the waist.

“Not I, oh Siva,” he said. “I merely wish to converse …” He indicated the troopers behind him, standing uncertainly out in the street. “If my presence here is an unbearable intrusion …”

“Don’t be such an idiot, priest,” she said, crossly, descending to him. “There is little that your mere presence can do that has not already been wrought by that lame-booted colleague of yours …”

“Colleague, oh Siva?”

She frowned.

“All right, Evestregen, what’s in that devious mind of yours?”

“Kemargian has been behaving … umm, with less than his usual efficiency …” he began.

Siva grinned.

“Ah, I see,” she said. “You mean, it may be time for us to consider replacing the noble Kemargien?”

Glancing at his attendant soldiers, Evestregen walked forward towards her.

“Not in so many words, he said, quietly. “I can’t simply stick a dagger in his ribs and have done with it …”

“Ever the subtle one, eh, Evestregen?”

He nodded.

“The noble Kemargien, as you put it, still commands a great deal of respect among the people. To kill him in cold blood will cause more problems than it solves. Unless, I had a very good reason to do so …”

She glanced sideways at him.

“And this little escapade may be the reason you need?”

He nodded.

“With you, Evestregen,” she whispered. “I, too, have grown tired of his sanctimonious posturings.”

“Where is he?”

“Chasing white suited ghosts in the apartments upstairs,” she replied. “Do we join him?”

“Lead on, oh Siva.”

They climbed to the upper level, to find Kemargien and a trio of soldiers studying the black-wood door that led to Carole’s bed-chamber.

The high priest turned to face her as Siva swept forward.

“This is the barbarian’s room?”

She responded with a curt nod.

“I am surprised,” she said, “that you didn’t merely break down every door in sight until you found her …”

Kemargien ignored the taunt, nodding instead at the nearest of his troopers. 

“Deal with it,” he said, coldly.

There was a dry, splintering crack as the guard’s shoulder connected with the door and it sagged sideways. Kemargien, sword drawn, led his soldiers into the room, looking cautiously about him for the man he expected to be there.

Evestregen stood aside as Siva followed the high priest, entering the room behind her. He pushed his helm onto the top of his head and looked sceptically about himself.

“Your bird appears to have flown,” he said, glancing at Siva. “No barbarian and no white-suited god in man’s guise …”

Kemargien, a look of thunder on his face, crossed to the bathroom as Siva, curling her nose in distaste, sniffed at the perfumed air.

“A man has been here,” she decided. “I can smell the taint of his body …”

Evestregen aimed an unconvinced look at her.

“She’s right,” snarled Kemargien, marching from the bathroom. “Look.”

He held the arrowhead, still stained with Carter’s blood, for the others to see.

Evestregen frowned. This wasn’t supposed to be happening at all …

“Yes, Kemargien,” he said, maintaining an even tone with not a little effort. “He was here. But where is he now?”

The high priest turned on the red garbed woman.

“All right, Siva, Before I asked, now I’m demanding to be allowed to search this palace, from roof to street …”

“On whose authority?” she demanded, hotly.

“On the authority of Astra,” he yelled, pointing the sword at her. “Now, do I get a little more co-operation from you or does the house of Siva get a new priestess?”

She glared at him, quivering with rage.

“Very well, then,” she hissed. “But if one of my girls is so much as touched by you or your filthy, black painted horde, so help me, Kemargien, I’ll take a knife to you myself.”

“You have my word, oh Siva,” he replied, pointing with the sword out into the corridor. “Search the other rooms,” he ordered. “Leave the women. I’ll have the heart of any man who molests them, but I want the barbarian and the man in the white clothing found.”

He followed the soldiers into the corridor, halting before the next door beyond the one he had emerged from.

“Who occupies this apartment?” he demanded.

“The maidens for the Great Solstice, oh priest,” she replied, bitterly.

“Open the door,” he said.

“But …”

“Open it!”

Evestregen, arms folded as he stood a few paces behind the priestess, imagined he could feel the waves of hate pouring from her.

“Very well,” she said, waving forward one of her maidservants. “Unlock it. Let the priest search for his ghosts, then perhaps we can be rid of him …”

* * *

She gave a squeak of alarm as she heard the object hit the balcony. Looking up, she saw the dazed and confused girl, dressed as she was, staring in horror at her.

“Cyann …” she began, uncertainly, as the girl looked to her left, towards what could only be the other balcony.

“Cyann!?!” she yelped, as the white suited man tumbled unceremoniously past the other female.

Someone behind her, woken by her calls, aimed one glance at the figures on the balcony and began calling for help.

“Adra, Zena, shut her up,” hissed a new voice. “Corla, what is it?”

“Cyann, there’s someone on the balcony …”

Cyann, woken from a particularly enjoyable dream, glared at the other girl. She sat up, wiping the sleep grains from her eyes, wincing as the hot sunlight reflected from the red-tiled rooftops beyond the balcony. She frowned as she made out the shadows cast by the two strangers on the curtains before her.

“By the love of Astra,” she whispered, “it’s a man …”

Rubbing the front of his right shoulder, Carter dragged himself to his feet. He looked into the room, extending a helping hand to Carole as he did so.

“Who are they, Alan?” she said, looking into his face.

He shook his head.

“Dunno,” he said. “Looks a bit like a harem, doesn’t it …”

“Trust you to think of that at a time like this …” she began.

“Think of what?” he replied, glancing back at the balcony they had just come from. “We can’t stay here,” he decided, “and there’s nowhere else to go but in there,” he nodded at the silk-hung interior of the room.

“There?” she repeated. “Among that lot?” She frowned. “How’re you going to explain who you are? D’you speak the language?”

He aimed a grin at her.

“What language?” he demanded. “Come on, Kitten, let’s hope the natives are friendly …”

He turned to the curtains, freezing in uncertainty as, almost as one body, the females in the room stood and began to advance upon him.

“Errm …” he began, noting the strange, hungry looks in their eyes. “Did I say friendly ..?”

In all his long and somewhat colourful career, Alan Carter had never once been called upon to defend himself against a massed attack by the members of a harem. Carole looked towards the approaching females, then glanced at the heart-wrenching drop to the dusty streets below …

Cyann tore the curtain aside, affording her colleagues their first good look at the beleaguered Alphans.

“Oh, my,” purred Zena, a dark eyed, olive skinned symphony in a glittering, bronze coloured gown. “Isn’t he beautiful …”

“Hmph! commented Adra, shaking her mane of honey-blond hair, “how would you know?”

She tilted her head, looking critically at the suddenly confused astronaut.

“He’d look better clean-shaven,” she decided.

Cyann pointed to the patch of dried blood beneath his sleeve. “He’s hurt. Adra, get something t make a bandage. Zena, watch the door …”

“But …”

“Watch the door, Zena. If Siva finds out he’s here she’ll kill us and tear him to pieces.”

“Yesss,” agreed Corla, thoughfully. “That would be a waste, wouldn’t it ..?”

Cyann stood forward, taking Carter’s right hand gently in her left, as her right closed purposefully on the fastening of the coveralls across his throat.

“Hey,” he began, looking into her face. “Now, hold on a minute …”

“Cyann!” hiss Zena, “someone’s coming ...!”

“We must hide them,” she called, beckoning the Alphans to follow her into the room. Carter frowned, glancing at Carole.

“D’you know what they’re talking about?”

She shook her head.

“Not everything, Alan,” she replied, “but I think they’re trying to help us.”

“Help us? Why?”

“I don’t know. They could be sacrifice victims, like me, of course. And,” she looked into his face, “you’re probably the first man they’ve seen in years …”

Carter’s eyes widened.

“You’re joking,” he said, incredulously.

“They are supposed to be virgins, remember,” she reminded him. “Maidens promised to Astra, and all that …”

Carter glanced at the girl who seemed to be the spokesman for the group.

“Uh, yeah,” he agreed, frowning again.

She smiled, nervously, at him.

“They seem harmless enough,” suggested Carole.

Carter glanced sideways at her, his mouth open to utter a suitably sarcastic comment, when the dark-haired girl – Zena, Cyann had called her – turned from her vigil by the door.

“Siva!” she hissed, urgently.

“Domo di Astra,” called Cyann, facing the Alphans. She pointed to a heap of cushions between a pair of fur-dressed couches. “Stak hi, beiden,” she urged. “Siva e domo di Astra veh hi. Vestend?”

“Yo,” replied Carole, turning to Carter. “Alan, someone’s coming. She says it’s the lords of Astra, which could mean anyone from priests down …”

“Who’s this Siva they’re talking about?”

“Head female of the place, and nasty with it. Alan, she means it. If they find you here …”

“I get the picture, Kitten,” he replied. “But can we trust this lot?”

“We don’t have much choice, Alan.”

“Okay,” he nodded, sitting stiffly on the cushions. Carole lay beside him as Cyann pulled a blanket from one of the couches over them. She held the hem against her face.

“Streng homono,” she whispered, smiling at Carter. He nodded and smiled back.

“Bona,” she added, then dropped the blanket and stood up, turning to face the door as a heavy gauntleted fist pounded suddenly, urgently against it.

“It is unlocked,” she called imperiously, running a nervous hand through her hair. “that is,” she added, “it is unlocked on this side.”

There was a rattle of bolts being withdrawn on the other side and the door swung open.

Cyann’s eyes narrowed as she saw the high priest, and the group of soldiers behind him.

“This is the house of Siva,” she challenged, “Men are forbidden …”

“Yes, yes,” replied the gold-helmed man, sharply. “”I’ve heard all the arguments from your mistress. But we seek a man here …”

“Really, my dear priest,” she said, reclining seductively on her couch, the knowledge that, less than an arm’s length away, was the very person he sought, causing her heart to thud in her breast. “You search for a man and, naturally, you decide to begin looking in a house of women. Unless, of course, you think he is disguised as one of us …”

“You’re wasting my time, woman,” he snapped. “Have you seen him ..?”

“Kemargien!”

Siva walked past him and pointed to the floor. He frowned at the droplets of crimson that led from the balcony to the row of couches.

“Blood!” he hissed, drawing his sword.

“No!” yelled Cyann, standing and running toward him. Siva intercepted her, pushing her awkwardly across another of the couches.

“Guards!” snapped Kemargien, standing over the blanket. The three troopers circled the two couches as Evestregen stood by his side. Slipping the tip of his sword beneath the edge of the blanket, he pulled it aside.

Carter leaned back as the sword wavered threateningly before his face. He glanced at Carole.

“Sorry, Kitten,” he breathed. “Looks like we blew it, this time …”

* * *

Verdeschi sat propped up against the head of the bed, looking fondly at the sleeping girl beside him. He rubbed at a reddened bite-mark on the front of his left shoulder, then smiled at her, leaning forward to kiss the smooth and suddenly inviting curve of her throat.

She squirmed in delight, savouring his touch in the half-conscious twilight world between sleep and wakefulness. Her eyes blinked open, shining with a dreamy, loving sparkle.

“Tony …” she sighed, simply.

He grinned, then kissed her fully on her moist, softly welcoming lips. She held his head against her face, remembering him as he had been in those few, beautiful hours after regaining consciousness.

“Streng homono,” she whispered. “Homono di Etak …”

He nodded.

“Etak di Tony?” he said.

“Yo,” she replied, caressing his back.

He smiled again.

“Something,” he said, nuzzling her ear, “has given me one hell of an appetite …”

“App … appetite?” she repeated, uncertainly.

“Hungry,” he suggested. “Starving? Famished ..?”

“Famesh?” she said. “Esures?” She pantomimed placing something in her mouth, chewing enthusiastically.

“Kiba,” she said. “Uh – food ...”

“Yo,” he nodded. “Food. Kiba …”

He gave her a playful pat on the rump, then sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

“Now, if I can only remember where I left my pants …”

* * *

Evestragen eyed Carter coldly.

“So this is your man- god,” he murmured, a sneer on his lips. He nodded as he saw the blood that stained the back of the Alphan’s coveralls.

“See, Kemargien,” he said, “my archers’ aim is still true …”

“Since we have recaptured him,” replied the high priest, darkly, “that question is now somewhat academic.” He nodded at Carole. “What is more important is whether the barbarian is still untouched …”

Siva shook her head.

“Too late, Kemargien,” she growled. “She has already given her body to him …”

The priest frowned.

“How do you know?” he challenged.

“Look at her,” she hissed. “You can see it in her eyes, smell his touch upon her …”

“Very well,” decided Kemargien. “If that is the case then there is nothing more we can do. But,” he reminded her, “I still have other offerings for Astra ..?”

“You are so sure, oh priest,” called Cyann, from the couch onto which she had been thrown. “How do you know that I am still fit to go to Astra?”

“No,” whispered Siva. “It is not possible …”

Cyann smiled, her eyes narrowing as she looked towards Carter. “The man has been here since daybreak,” she murmured. “He lay with me, gave his love to me …”

“And to me,” said Corla, defiantly.

Kemargian stared, thunderstruck at the two girls.

“By Astra’s light …” he began.

“And with me,” said Adra and Zena, together, amid a chorus of agreement.

Kemargien frowned, suspicion beginning to form in his mind as Evestregen aimed a sideways glance at the battered Alphan. Siva, however, was unconvinced.

“It is not true!” she snapped.

Panther-like, she strode past Kemargien, plucking the dagger from the clip on his left forearm as she went. Her left hand closed about Cyan’s throat. Pushing her back against the couch, she held the blade against her cheek.

“Speak the truth,” she breathed. “Speak it, or I destroy this pretty face of yours.”

Cyann felt the cold caress of the knife against her skin.

“Tell me,” commanded Siva. “Did he touch you ..?”

“Don’t hurt her!” screamed Corla. “Nothing happened, I swear, just don’t hurt her …”

“Does she speak the truth, Cyann?” demanded Kemargien.

“She speaks the truth,” said the girl, bitterly. “He arrived on our balcony only a few moments ago.”

Siva released her and stood up, handing the dagger back to the priest with an angered, abrupt movement.

“You have the man you seek,” she said, regarding the downcast female on the couch with hooded eyes, “and his barbarian whore. Take them and get out of my palace, and remove your evil kind from my sight …”

Kemargian nodded, sheathing his sword.

“I thank you for your tolerance and assistance, oh priestess,” he said, pointedly looking towards Carter. “All right, sergeant, take them to the holding cells. I’ll decide what to do with them later.”

He glanced coldly at Siva as the guards escorted the Alphans from the room, then, throwing her a curt, token salute, turned and followed them from her sight.

Silva glared at Cyann.

“I shall remember this display of disobedience,” she threatened. “It is only tolerated because you are of Astra’s chosen ones. A repetition of this behaviour and …”

“And you will not allow us to make the journey to Astra?” suggested Corla, innocently. “If our banishment is at the hands of the fair-haired stranger, then I can think of no more pleasurable punishment …”

“Be still. Your words are blasphemy. There shall be no more talk of this, do you understand?”

Cyann nodded, slowly, reluctantly.

“I understand, oh Siva,” she said, softly, supressing the glow of defiance in her eyes.

Siva frowned.

“You are still children,” she reminded. “The sooner you abandon your childish dreams and concentrate on the preparations for when you make your journey to Astra the sooner you will be at peace with yourselves.” She glanced about the chamber. “Now, clean this place up,” she demanded. “It smells of men and death.”

She crossed to the door.

“Evestregen,” she called, “I will have words with you.”

He nodded, walking after her from the room into the corridor. He paused as Siva supervised the closing and locking of the door.

“Truly,” she said, turning towards him. “Our high priest leads a charmed life. The man was here, and he had come in search of his woman.”

They walked, side-by-side along the corridor.

“We prevented the loss of the offerings …” began Evestregen.

“No, oh priest,” she replied. “Kemargien did all the preventing. When news of what he did this day reaches the people it will be impossible to dispose of him …”

“Perhaps, Siva,” he said. “But the people have short memories. They’ll soon forget all the man’s greatness if we let him make a bad enough mistake.” He glanced at her. “We’ll just have to bide our time, that’s all. But the first chance I get to deal with Kemargien I’ll take it, and let Astra be the judge of whether I am right or not …”

* * *

Koenig frowned at Helena, then glanced at Biorn. His unfamiliarity with the other man’s language meant that she was doing most of the talking, his feeling of helplessness compounding those of frustration and impatience so acutely that he could almost feel it burning through him.

It was no use. He could stand it no longer.

“Helena,” he began.

She faced him, running her fingers tiredly through her hair.

“Look,” he said. “There must be something we can do …”

“There is, John,” she replied. “We can wait …”

“Wait? In heaven’s name, Helena, what for?”

“Biorn thinks they’ll be safe until the great solstice ceremony in about eleven day’s times.”

“They? You mean Alan as well?”

“Well …” said Helena.

Koenig frowned. Again.

“Has Biorn said anything about Alan?”

She shook her head.

“There’s been no news of him, John. He hasn’t left the city …”

“If anything happens to them,” he growled, “either of them …”

He glanced into Biorn’s face. The native studied him, a concerned look in his eyes.

“Dammit, Helena,” he said, suddenly. “I’m still responsible for them. I can’t just sit here and do nothing …”

He looked out through the open tent flap, seeing the shadows lengthen as the sun sank nearer the distant treeline.

“They’re not just colleagues, Helena. They’re friends, close friends, all of them. Now Alan and Carole are missing in the city and Tony’s fighting for his life in that tent back there …”

“Whose fighting for his life, Commander?”

Koneig’s jaw dropped in amazement as Verdeschi, a wide smile on his face and a gleam in his eye, strode confidently into Biorn’s tent. Etak, her arm about his waist, clung to him as if her life depended on it.

She smiled warmly at her father, who nodded approvingly at them.

“What happened ..?” began Helena. “Uh, I mean …”

Verdeschi gave Etak an affectionate squeeze.

“It’s all right, Helena,” he said. “I just discovered the most effective medical treatment known to man …”

“If you mean ‘woman’, then you’re too late,” replied Koenig, taking Helena’s hand tenderly in his. 

“Sure, Commander,” said Verdeschi. “I should have known.”

He looked into Etak’s face, then glanced towards Koenig.

“It’s a pity Alan and Carole aren’t here with us …”

Koenig nodded.

“Well, Helena,” he said, turning to her. “Do we get Biorn’s help, or do we start our own rescue mission?”

“Yo, JohnKoenig,” said Biorn, suddenly. “You get our help. Soon, we go to city of Astra. Onir di Biorn veh kurs”

“Onir?” frowned Koenig, looking into the native’s determined face.

“Vengeance, John,” translated Helena. “Biorn’s going to make them pay for trying to kill his daughter …”

* * *

Carter slipped his hand into the front of his coveralls, massaging the front of his shoulder in an effort to combat the returning pain.

“Alan? Are you all right?”

He glanced at her, a reassuring, lop-sided smile on his face.

“Ah, Kitten,” he whispered. “This is a hell of a time to be thinking about my problems. You’ve enough of your own …”

“You are one my problems, Alan …”

He nodded, glancing at the impressively solid-looking backs of the troopers descending the stairway in front of them.

“How fast do you think you can run in that dress you’re wearing?”

She frowned.

“Run? Run where?”

He inhaled, clenching his right fist, feeling the pull of the muscles in his arm. Battered, bruised, but rested. Surprise would be on his side. It could be the best chance he’d ever have …

“Alan?” hissed Carole, urgently. “What’re you going to do?”

He looked about himself, measuring distances between them and their guards.

“Now look, Kitten,” he said, softly, “the minute we’re out on the street you get ready to run …”

“But …”

“No buts, Carole. I’m the one they’re after. If I can cause enough fuss maybe they’ll let you alone long enough to give you a chance …”

“But they’re carrying swords. They could kill you …”

“No chance, Carole,” he promised. “I’m bloody indestructible …”

“Alan …”

“Get out while you can, Kitten. Don’t let me down this time.”

“I can’t leave you.”

He slipped an arm around her waist, his grey-blue eyes meeting hers, peering, she imagined, into her very soul.

“Kitten, please. Just do this last thing for me …”

Her eyes brimmed with tears.

“I … I don’t …”

He licked his lips, the corners of his mouth pulling into a brief, reassuring smile.

“It wasn’t much, Carole, but we had a few, marvelous hours together. I want you to remember it for both of us …”

A sword point jabbed its warning into his back.

“Veh, blaspheman!” urged the trooper.

Carter glanced at him. _Not yet,_ he told himself. _Not yet …_

The ruined outer door beckoned from the other end of the great hall. Carter inhaled, listening to the measured tread of the troopers’ boots on the glossed floor. They approached the doorway, his fists balling instinctively, the adrenaline beginning to flow in his veins.

“I still love you, Alan,” whispered the girl at his side.

“Any minute now, Kitten,” he replied.

They strode through the door, into the high-walled courtyard beyond. The gate was open, and unguarded.

“Whatever happens now,” he warned, “you’re on your own. Go like the wind, Carole. Don’t worry about me …”

“Alan …”

She turned into him, pulling him into her embrace, kissing him with an almost savage enthusiasm.

“Mmph, Carole …” he began.

“Veh!” commanded the guard behind them, lifting the hilt of his sword to club them apart.

“Ni, gladior,” called the gold-helmed priest, standing forward. He made to place his left hand on Carole’s shoulder.

Carter saw his chance.

“Go, Carole!” he yelled, elbowing the guard aside and reaching for the dagger Siva had used to such great effect on Cyann. His right fist closed about its skeleton grip as the trooper tumbled over himself in the shadows beneath the courtyard wall.

“Get the hell out of here, Kitten!” he called, sensing her hesitation behind him as he turned to face the astonished priest.

She dodged a lumbering run from one of the troopers before her, then, aiming a last, desperate glance at Carter, sprinted from the courtyard.

The astronaut smiled as he heard her footsteps patter into the distance. Watching the two, suddenly wary bodyguards out of the corner of his eye, he studied the high priest. He slipped the dagger into his left hand, feeling the warm rivulet of blood begin to drain from the freshly opened wound in his back. 

_Run, Carole,_ he prayed. _Run like you’ve never run before …_

He spun as a black shape thundered towards him, the knife lifting instinctively to meet his foe. He backed off, out of the path of the man’s headlong lunge, twisting the dagger into the narrow gap between the front and back plates of the man’s body armour.

With a grunt of surprise, the doomed soldier cartwheeled into the priest. Carter, fighting for possession of the dagger, dragged it from the dying man as he felled his superior.

With a grunt of pain, Carter turned, throwing the knife at the surviving soldier, to run towards the gates, and the freedom they promised.

Behind him, Evestregen, hearing the sounds of the struggle, ran for the door, yelling for his bodyguards as he went. 

He burst from the palace, to see the fleeing Alphan, limping awkwardly across the courtyard.

“Archers,” he commanded, as his bodyguard skidded to his side. “A priesthood for the man that kills him!”

He glanced at the downed Kemargien as a pair of arrows centred on the running man’s back.

“He is dead, oh priest,” he promised. “My men will not fail me a second time …”  
 


	19. Chapter 19

Kemargien clawed to his feet, reaching desperately for the nearest bowman.

“No!” he shouted, lifting the bow arm even as the archer released the arrow.

“In Astra’s name! “ hissed Evestregen, seeing the shaft sail harmlessly over the running man. In seconds, Carter was through the gate and out of sight, lost in the city’s maze of backstreets.

“Let him go,” commanded Kemargien. “His bravery has earned him the right to live …”

Evestregen turned on his superior, anger narrowing his eyes.

“Have you taken leave of your senses?” he challenged. “You let the blasphemer and his woman slip through your fingers …”

“In all my days as a priest,” returned Kemargien, sharply, “I have done nothing but take lives. Today, for the first time, I gave one …”

“To an unbeliever …”

“To a man who dignified us by offering his life for that of his woman,” he replied. “To a man who shamed us all by his love for her …”

Evestregen’s sword snicked from its scabbard.

“That is all I need to hear, Kemargien,” he whispered, his voice horse with emotion, his eyes bright with undisguised triumph. “You condemn yourself with your own tongue. You’re no longer fit to lead the people in their worship of Astra.”

“Nor do I wish to be,” he replied, pulling his helm from his head. “Ebron and his friends – the ones you call barbarians – are right. Astra is the one who is corrupt.”

He threw the helm to the ground, watching it bounce noisily into the wall. 

“Siva …” began Evestregen.

“I heard, Evestregen,” she called, from the doorway of her palace. “Kill him, my lord high priest. Silence his traitorous tongue …”

His sword glinted as it swung towards Kemargien’s chest.

“No,” he said, suddenly, glancing up at the priestess. “I have a better way.”

“My lord?”

“The solstice,” he replied. “We shall offer him to Astra. Let the god he blasphemes against deal with him for us.”

He smiled, a thin, cruel smile, then nodded at his bodyguards.

“Take him to the cells,” he ordered. “let our former high priest contemplate the ceremony that lies before him in the days of his life that remain …”

* * *

Carter slumped, painfully, against the cool roughness of a hand-hewn wall, every last reservesof strength and stamina driven from him by his headlong flight. Too fatigued to even notice the ache of his newly-opened wound, he slid to his knees, inhaling great lungfuls of air, feeling it burn drily on his throat.

“… get up. You’ve got to keep moving. Please, keep going …”

“No,” he mumbled, sleepily. “Gotta rest. Can’t go on …”

“Come on. We can’t stay here …”

“Lemme alone. Sleepy. Gotta sleep …”

Something hit him, hard, across the cheek, stinging life back into his body.

“What the hell …”

“… please, Alan. You’ve got to help. I can’t carry you on my own …”

He blinked, stupidly, at the wavering grey shape before his eyes.

“Who ..?”

Something gripped his left arm, pulling him to his feet.

“Come on, Alan. One last effort. We’ve not got far to go …”

He closed his eyes, steading the world that spun about him with a hand pushed against the wall.

“No use,” he whispered. “Can’t see. What’s happen …”

The blow stung his cheek again. And again.

“Stop it,” he called, vainly trying to fend off the blows with his right arm. “Hurts …”

“It’ll hurt a lot more if the priests catch up with you …”

“Okay. Okay,” he peered uncertainly through the grey mist that surrounded him, fighting the numbing fingers that were blinding him.

“This way … No, for god’s sake, keep walking. It isn’t far …”

The sky darkened above him. His eyes closed now, he wavered on the brink of unconsciousness. An unseen hand gripped his left ankle. With a gasp of pain, he collapsed, feeling the sting of something sharp claw across his face. 

He rolled onto his back, seeing the vague, indistinct outline of a human form hovering above him.

“Alan …” it pleaded. “Alan, can you hear me ..?”

Deafened by the thunder of the blood pumping through his mind, he relinquished the last of his tenuous links with consciousness …

* * *

Verdeschi smiled his thanks to the maidservant who refilled his goblet with wine, then faced Koenig as she tactfully withdrew from their table.

“Cheers. Commander,” he said. “That’s just got to be one of the best meals I’ve had in years …”

Koenig nodded.

“It sure beats the recycled, synthetic junk we have to eat on Alpha,” he agreed.

“Yeah, Commander,” he replied, glancing warmly at Etak, who, throughout the meal, had remained close by his side. “Pity Alan and Carole can’t be here to enjoy it with us,” he added.

“Biorn _has_ promised us his help,” said Helena.

“Yes,” warned Koenig, “but we’re up against more than just the priests in the city, now.”

Helena frowned.

“What d’you mean, John?”

He glanced at her.

“Astra,” he said. “He’s not finished with us, yet. Not by a long way.”

“Who is this, whatever he is, Commander?”

“I just don’t know, Tony,” he replied. “He’s humanoid, he’s got some very sophisticated equipment, and he has some kind of hold over the people in the city. That’s all we know about him. Except,” he added, looking towards Helena, “that he may not be entirely sane. At least, not in the way we’d define sanity.”

“Then what do we do?” said Verdeschi. “Just sit back and let him make all the moves?”

Koenig shook his head.

“We can’t afford to do that, Tony,” he said, leaning forward, resting his forearms on the tabletop. “If there was a way we could strike back at him, male the first move.”

He nodded at the table behind Helena, indicating the laser and commlocks upon it.

“That the only laser we have left?”

“Yes,” she replied. “And there’s not much of a charge left in it …”

“Hey, wait a minute,” called Verdeschi, looking up at Koenig. “We’ve got a laser cannon if we want it …”

“Where ..” began Koenig. He snapped his fingers, realisation hitting him in an instant.

“The wreck!” he whispered. “The main drive. The igniters of the engines are ring-lasers …”

“We can unship a couple of units, pirate the rest for spares and hook them up to the emergency batteries in the passenger module,” said Verdeschi, eagerly. “Remove the focusing elements and we’ve a device powerful enough to lift the top off a mountain …”

“You’re forgetting one thing,” interrupted Helena. “Just what do you think you’re going to fire this cannon of yours at, always assuming it’s going to work …”

“It’ll work, Helena,” began Versdechi. “You’ve got my word on that …”

“No,” broke in Koenig, “Tony, she’s right. We can’t use a thing like that on people, or the city. We could kill thousands. Mass murder may be Astra’s way, but it certainly isn’t ours.”

Verdeschi nodded.

“Yeah, Commander,” he said, reluctantly. “Still, it was a good idea while it lasted …”

“It may still be,” said Helena, quietly.

“What are you talking about?” demanded Koenig, thoughtfully.

“Why not use it against Astra?” she suggested.

“Gladly,” said Koenig. “But we don’t know where his hide-out is.” He glanced sideways at her. “Unless, of course, you do …”

A secretive smile crept across her lips.

“Maybe I do …” she said, mysteriously.

“C’mon, Helena,” urged Verdeschi, “what is it?”

“When I dressed Ebron’s wounds after Etak brought us here that first time, he was telling me about shamen, creatures of the night, who live in the forests of the mountains  
beyond the camp …”

“Shamen ..?” repeated Koenig.

Helena nodded.

“That’s as near a translation as I could get,” she said.

“Shamen, shaman. I think I’ve heard that before,” replied Koenig, eyes narrowing in thought.

“Yes,” said Helena, eagerly. “Shaman. You usually only get them one at a time …”

“Them?” said Verdeschi, blankly. “Them who?”

“Shamen,” replied Helena. “Wizards, warlocks. Male witches …”

“Witches?” said Vedeschi, incredulously.

Koenig nodded.

“Of course,” he said. “It fits …”

“Creatures that kill by night, yet leave no trace,” added Helena.

“Yes,” agreed Koenig. “That could be our friend, Astra.”

A grim smile spread across his face.

“Does Ebron know any traditional haunts of these shamen?”

“Yes. There’s one mountain no-one will approach, not even in daylight. There’ve been too many disappearances and mysterious deaths happened on it for the native’s liking.”

“We’ve got him!” growled Koenig, triumphantly.

“We hope,” added Verdeschi. “If we do turn a laser cannon on this mountain, how do we know we get Astra?”

“That’s a point,” realised Koenig. “It looks as though we’ll have to wait for Astra to make some kind of move, so that we can see if the cannon has any effect.”

“At least we’ll be ready for him,” reminded Verdeschi.

“Yes,” said Koenig. “But he’ll certainly be ready for us.”

He glanced out through the open doorflap at the starlit compound within the camp.

“How soon can you get that cannon rigged up, Tony?”

“Couple of hours, Commander,” he replied, standing up and making for the door.

“Ni, Tony,” called Etak, a restraining hand on his arm. “Spivak kedo un noctur. Spivak un silvor …”

“Spivaks, tony,” translated Helena. “They’ll be killing in the forests. Not even Biorn’s people risk meeting them in the dark. Besides, you could do with the sleep, both of you …”

Koenig nodded, smiling at her.

“Sure, Helena,” he said. “It’s been a hard day …”

He glanced at Verdeschi and the misty-eyed girl on his arm.

“Get some rest,” he told him. “We’ve a busy day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“Okay, Commander,” replied the other man, giving Etak’s waist an affectionate squeeze. “Come on,” he said. “One last look at the stars …”

“Stars?”

“Sterren,” prompted Helena.

“Ah,” said Etak, a faraway look in her eyes. “Sterren …”

Verdeschi smiled.

“Good night, Helena,” he called, over his shoulder, escorting her from the tent. “Night, Commander …”

“Good night, Tony,” he called, glancing towards Helena. “Doesn’t take a psychologist to see where _his_ heart is at the moment,” he said, softly.

She nodded.

“Yes,” she agreed. “I hope it isn’t all in vain …”

He frowned.

“What d’you mean?”

“What’s going to happen when the Moon gets here, John?” she asked. “Will he want to stay here, of will she go with him back to Alpha?”

Koenig shook his head.

“It would be up to them …” he began.

“Young people that much in love usually want to settle down and have children …”

“You mean he might want to stay here with her?”

“Perhaps,” she replied. “But I was thinking on rather different lines.”

“How different?”

“Basic biology, John. I don’t care how human they look, but d’you realise how remote the chance is that their psychology is compatible …”

“You mean, if they ever wanted children ..?”

“Their difference in genetic pattern could mean that they could never have offspring. That is, Etak could never bear a child of Tony’s.”

“Even if she could bear children of her own men-friends?”

“Oh, there’s no doubt about that, John,” she said. “I sneaked a bio-scan of her while she was in the hospital. All the people here are so healthy I’d be out of business in a week if I tried to set up a practice here.”

“But she and Tony aren’t compatible.”

She shook her head.

“Well, I don’t know for sure. I’d have to run a set of genetic scans back on Alpha to be positive, but the chance is so remote …”

“I get the picture, Helena,” he said. “Pity, really. She’s very beautiful …”

“Careful, John, you’ll make me feel jealous …”

He looked into her eyes.

“Jealous? Don’t be silly, Helena. You’re the prettiest girl on the planet, and you know it.”

She smiled.

“You smooth talking moonbase commanders are all alike, John Koenig,” she replied.

“Al part of the job,” he said. “One of the rewards of the profession, meeting all these beautiful women …”

There was a pause, an empathic exchange of …something … something so totally indefinableas to be meaningless in the moments that followed.

He shrugged his shoulders, breaking the spell that had woven between them.

“Good night, Helena,” he said. “I’ll see you in the morning …”

“You … er…” she began, hesitantly.

“Yes?”

“You don’t have to leave …” she said.

“No,” he replied, softly. “I didn’t really want to …”

Their eyes met and held.

Koenig’s face suddenly cracked with a rueful smile.

“Look at us, Helena,” he said. “A pair of mature, responsible adults, acting like a couple of teenagers on a first date …”

“First date?” she repeated. “My, kids do grow up fast these days, don’t they?”

“You know what I mean, Helena.”

She nodded.

“Yes, John, I do ...”

“Strange, isn’t it,” he said, standing before her. “All this time we’ve known each other, to come together like this.”

“Must be the youngsters putting thoughts into our heads,” she suggested.

“They get all the bright ideas …” he began, lifting his hand to caress her cheek.

“I love you, John,” she said, simply.

He leaned forward and kissed her.

“I Love you, Helena,” he replied, softly.

They embraced, each savouring the moment to the full.

“A moonbase commander isn’t supposed to get emotionally attached to his crew,” he warned, quietly.

She smiled.

“Come to bed, John,” she suggested. “We can discuss what a moonbase commander can and cannot do in the morning …”

* * *

Carter awoke with the scent of freshly-dried hay in his nostrils and the sting of cut straw against his chest. He rolled onto his left arm, peering uncertainly, and not a little giddily, into the darkness that enclosed him.

Something, swathed in a once-elegant gown of the finest silk, was lying, within arm’s length, by his side.

He leaned forward, his right hand, dark with patches of dried blood, lifting to touch it. It jumped, sliding sideways away from him like some startled animal. A tired, frightened face emerged from the folds of material.

“Alan,” she gasped. “Thank god. I thought you’d never wake. You’ve been out for hours …”

“My shoulder …” he began.

“I tried to re-bandage it,” she replied. “You’ve lost a lot more blood …”

He rubbed the numbness from the front of his shoulder.

“Bad?” he asked.

“I don’t know. If this was Alpha I could give you a transfusion …”

“Sure, but this isn’t Alpha.” He leaned back against the bed of straw he was lying on, favouring his injured side.

“Ah, what the hell,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m still conscious. It can’t be all that bad …”

He frowned as he suffered a momentary blurring of eyesight. Amid a whirl of coloured lights that flashed to the beat of his heart, he watched as the room stabilised around him.

He blinked, uncertainly, as he refocussed on Carole’s agonised face.

“Carole …”

She edged forward, kneeling beside him, placing a concerned hand tenderly on his chest.

“Yes, Alan ..?” she whispered.

He smiled, warmly, comfortingly.

“You came back for me, you little idiot,” he murmured, placing his left hand over hers.

“I couldn’t find a way out of the city,” she began.

“Yeah,” he said, “I’ve heard that before.” He squeezed the hand. “You shouldn’t have waited for me.”

He smiled, lifting her hand and kissing it.

“But I’m sure glad you did …”

He looked into her face, seeing the redness in her eyes.

“You’ve been crying,” he noted.

“They were going to kill you …” she said.

“I still don’t know why they didn’t,” he confessed.

She sniffed, painfully, a frown puckering her face.

“Why is everyone on this planet trying to kill each other?” she demanded, helplessly.

“Because Astra is telling them to,” he replied, evenly.

“Astra? You mean he really exists?”

He nodded.

“But he’s no god,” he said. “Just a maniac with a few fancy toys who likes to think he’s a god.”

“You saw him?”

“I saw something. A faceless, red …” he shook his head, trying to describe the alien. “Thing …”

She pulled closer to him, placing her arms around him.

“Alan, I …” she faltered, “I’m scared …”

His arm tightened about her waist.

“We’ll be all right, Carole,” he promised. “ We can get out of the city any time we like and back to the Eagle.” He nuzzled her cheek. “Then you can give me all the transfusions you want.”

She managed to force a brave smile on her lips.

“I’m not going to let you go this time,” she promised.

“I’m not letting you out of my sight, either,” he warned.

“Could be interesting whenever I want to take a bath …” she suggested.

“Well,” he whispered, blowing into her ear, “you’ll need someone to scrub your back for you, won’t you?”

Her slight, silk-clad frame shook with suppressed laughter.

“That’s better,” he said, “I knew you could be happy if you wanted to.”

“I am happy, Alan,” she replied, “now I’m back in your arms again …”

“Kitten,” he began, softly.

“Yes, Alan ..?”

“Can you ..?”

“Yes, Alan,” she sighed. “Anything …”

“Do you think you could find me something to drink, I’m parched …”

Her anticipation of a moment of total bliss dissolved in an instant.

“Oh, Alan …” she began. She exhaled, suddenly relaxing in his arms.

“All right,” she said, aiming a dark look at him. “I’ll see what I can find.”

She stood and walked into the gloom, Carter taking the opportunity to examine their surroundings.

“Carole,” he called. “Just where are we?”

“Some kind of stables,” she answered, from the darkness. “Ouch!”

He sat up, a frown on his face, ignoring the sting of the cut surfaces of skin at his back rubbing against each other.

“What is it?” he called.

“It’s all right,” she replied. “I’ve found the water.”

She re-materialised out of the gloom, an earthenware bowl in one hand as she squeezed water from the hem of her dress with the other.

“There’s a horse-trough, or something, back there,” she informed him. “I just stood in it. That water’s cold,” she added, sitting beside him once more.

He took the bowl from her and eyed the liquid in it doubtfully. She glanced at him.

“You asked for water,” she reminded him. “You didn’t say where it had to come from, or how pure it was to be …”

He aimed a suitably chastising frown at her.

“I thought nurses were supposed to show a little compassion to their patients,” he said.

She leaned forward and rubbed his chest.

“Oh, but I do, Alan,” she whispered, kissing him.

“Uhuh,” he grunted, glancing at the bowl. He threw it behind him, hearing it thud into the unseen wall beyond.

“I wasn’t really thirsty, anyway,” he said, running the fingers of his left hand up and down her spine.

“Just a minute,” she said. “I saw some skins back there. We can be nice and warm …”

She stood and entered the gloom once more. Carter leaned back, a contented smile on his face.

“Alan ..?”

He sat up, aware of a puzzled, almost frightened accent to her voice.

“Carole ..?” he called, frowning into the darkness.

“Alan, there’s a funny noise …”

The wall in front of him seemed to burn, glowing orange. Yet he felt no heat.

“Carole … “ he began, seeing her outlined against the growing pool of light.

“Alan, what is it ..?”

“Oh, my god,” he breathed. “Carole,” he yelled, “get back! Get out if its way …”

The light appeared to grown, to detach itself from the wall, advancing on her terror-struck form.

“No!” he shouted, dragging himself to his feet. “Get down, Carole, don’t let it touch you …”

In a blinding corona of flame, her outline wavered, growing hazy and indistinct. There was an overpowering crash of thunder, and the ball of fire collapsed upon itself.

Of the girl, there was nothing, save the faint aroma of ozone that drifted through the air.

“Astra, no” called Carter, vainly. “Leave her alone, you inhuman bastard. Leave her alone ..!”

 


	20. Chapter 20

Carter stared blindly at the featureless wall before him for several ageless moments, feeling his heart racing madly in his chest.

“Oh, my god, Carole,” he whispered, sinking slowly to his knees, experiencing more than physical pain. He closed his eyes, grief burning into them, flooding them with tears.

“Not again, Carole,” he called. “I can’t bear losing you again …”

He sat back on his heels, wiping his left hand across his face. His eyes flickered open. He frowned as a grey splash of colour against the faded gold of the straw swam before him. He reached forward, picking it up, seeing the tiny black beads sewn into it strike glittering catchlights in the meagre light that found its way into the chamber.

The mouse. Kali’s mouse.

His jaw set. He crushed the toy animal into his fist, looking upwards into the roof of the stable.

“All right, Astra,” he called. “You may have her now, but I’m gonna take her back, even if I have to dig up this whole damn planet to find her …”

He opened the fist, looking to the mouse once more.

Carole’s mouse.

“Hold on, Kitten,” he promised. “I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”

He shook his head, clenching his right fist, fighting the numbness that paralysed the arm.

“Just as soon as I get this shoulder patched up,” he added, glancing at a pool of sunlight painted on the wall above him.

“Eagle,” he decided. “The pod. She’s out in that forest somewhere. Medical supplies.”

He inhaled deeply, drawing on the anger and determination that coursed through him for the strength he would need in the hours to come.

“Don’t worry, Carole,” he breathed. “I’m not letting you go this time …”

* * *

Carole, her eyes wide with fear, curled against the wall above her bed, the thin white sheet that had covered her pulled tightly beneath her chin.

“You will find clothing on the table at the end of the couch, Nurse Irwin,” boomed the voice.

“Astra?” she called.

“Such perceptiveness in one so young and innocent,” replied the alien, in an offhand manner. “But,” he added, his once-mellow voice hardening abruptly, “you are no longer innocent, are you, my dear? No longer the pure, untouched child that was promised to me.”

“Promised?” she whispered.

“That unthinking animal you call Carter destroyed you, as he destroyed the ceremony that was to give me the life of the barbarian, Etak, and the blasphemers Ebron and Elnhe before her. But he’ll not stop me this time. I shall return you to the priests, as my gift, to sacrifice in my name at the great solstice ceremony.”

“Who are you?” she demanded. “What are you ..?”

“The human, Carter, saw me,” replied Astra, thoughtfully. “I think it right that his woman sees me before she dies.”

There was a metallic crunch, and with the powerful rumble of turning machinery, a milk-white wall panel edged into the ceiling. Beyond it, haloed in scarlet, was a tall, featureless silhouette.

The lights dimmed behind him as the creature walked forward, stepping into the hard, white glare of the room that imprisoned her.

Her mouth opened in a silent scream as she thrust her fist into her mouth. Astra, having forsaken his blood-coloured gown, was wearing a jet-black, all enveloping costume, its hem touching the floor about his feet. There was no cowl, merely a high collar about the back of his terrible, uncovered head.

He nodded, spirals of colour swirling within the scarlet dome.

“Yes,” he said, softly, “I see now why he risked so much for you.”

She drew back as a hand the colour of Alan’s blood extended to touch her face.

“Leave me alone …” she hissed.

The hand withdrew.

“As you wish, my child.”

Astra straightened, walking around the foot of the bed.

“You have eleven days,” he said suddenly. “At the end of that time, the priests will hold their great solstice ceremony. They are to sacrifice a number of their own people to me. There shall be one extra.”

He turned, a slender forefinger spearing her where she sat.

“You. You shall be that extra offering. I shall set you down in the midst of the ceremony. The priests will be warned to expect you.”

He approached her again, towering over her, savouring her terror to the last.

“The ceremony is quite simple,” he said, voice deceptively smooth. “You shall be held upon the altar stone, and they shall offer your soul to me. Think upon it, my dear. You shall be alive long enough to see your own heart, free of your body, beating in the hands of the priest that killed you. Be honoured,” he hissed. “Your blood shall give me life. In the eyes of my people, you shall give me your strength, as they give me their love …”

“Stop it!” she screamed. “Why can’t you leave me alone ..?”

“Because you are my vengeance against Carter,” he growled. “You shall pay for his sins, for his blasphemy against me.”

He backed away, approaching the open doorway.

“Get dressed,” he called. “Food will be brought to you. You shall neither hunger nor thirst. Until the day of your sacrifice.”

He paused, turning to face her as the door-panel began to close.

“Until then, I leave you with your dreams, and the images of your destruction at the hands of your defiler.”

The door thudded home. She shook her head in bewilderment, blinking the tears from her eyes as the wall shimmered with images that she had believed to be memories she shared only with Alan Carter.

“Oh, my god,” she whispered, seeing herself and the man she loved on the great screen.

“Alan, no …” She looked to the impassive door panel through which Astra had gone.

“No!” she yelled. “Take it away. For god’s sake, take it away …”

Before her, she gave herself again to Carter, giving him her heart, her soul.

And her life …

* * *

“Think we can line up on Astra’s mountain from the crash site, Tony?”

Verdeschi glanced over his shoulder at the range of white-capped buttes on the horizon.

“Don’t know, Commander,” he replied. “Could be. If we rigged up a mount on the back-frame.”

“It would save laying in cables, or shifting batteries,” mused Koenig, negotiating a downed tree trunk.

Verdeschi looked towards Etak as she skittered lightly over a heap of scree at the foot of the slope.

“Hey!” he called. “Hold on. I’m an astronaut, not a bloody mountain goat.”

She smiled up at him, standing on a sandstone boulder, her hand placed provocatively on her hips.

Koenig glanced at her, then at Verdeschi.

“You love her very much, don’t you,” he said, quietly.

Verdeschi sat on the tree trunk, looking towards him.

“Is it that obvious, Commander?”

Koenig nodded. “What happens when the moon gets here?” he asked. “Will you take her to Alpha, or will you want to stay here with her?”

He shook his head.

“I don’t know, Commander,” he replied. “She has all her family here. But I have a duty to Alpha.”

“I’m not ordering you back, Tony,” said Koenig. “You’re free to do whatever you want …”

“Sure, Commander.”

Verdeschi looked back towards Etak, then nodded at the forest about him.

“Like Earth, isn’t it,” he observed.

“You mean this could be New Earth?”

Verdeschi shrugged his shoulders.

“Just a thought, Commander,” he said. “I know it’s already inhabited, but I can’t see a few hundred Alphans making all that much of a difference.”

Koenig nodded, thoughtfully.

“Could be, Tony,” he agreed. He glanced at Etak, sunning herself lazily on the boulder below them. Helena’s words carried to him, chilling his heart.

He cleared his throat.

“Okay, Tony,” he said, suddenly, hoping that the astronaut had not detected the hard edges to his voice, “we’ve at least two months to spend thinking about what we’ll do when Luna arrives. Right now we’ve a laser cannon to build.”

Verdeschi smiled, his gaze never far from the bright-eyed girl below him.

“Right there, Commander,” he replied, standing and walking down the slope after her.

Koenig frowned, rubbing his chin thoughtfuly.

 _How the hell do I tell him,_ he wondered. _Damnit, I wish I’d never heard of this insane planet …_

“Hey,” he called. “Wait up. I’m not as young as I used to be …”

Verdeschi was smiling as he breasted the line of shrubbery that ringed the clearing into which the ill-fated Eagle had plunged. He halted, turning a critical eye upon the mangled tail section of the wreck. Koenig paused beside him, uttering a long, low whistle as he did so.

“My god, you were lucky,” he whispered, walking towards the open passenger module hatch. “No wonder we lost continuity with the pod. Something’s stripped the cable trunk clean out of …”

“Hold it, Commander,” warned Verdeschi, a sudden note of alarm in his voice.

Koenig paused, removing his laser from its clip.

“What is it, Tony?” he called, aiming it into the darkness within the pod.

“We left a medikit on the ground before the hatch,” he answered. “It’s gone now. And,” he added, poiting at the lower cross-frame of the port, “that looks like blood …”

Koenig frowned, advancing warily on the apparently innocent module.

“Watch it, Commander,” urged Verdeschi. “That pod would look like a cave to an animal. Could be a Spivak’s dragged a kill in there …”

“Okay, Tony.”

Koenig approached the hatch. The frame, angled downwards towards its aft end, was almost at waist height. The blood that stained it was still fresh, shining redly in the morning sunlight.

He aimed the laser over the top of the frame, eyes darting about the inside of the pod, resolving more detail from the shadowy interior as his eyes accustomed to the dark.

Something white, slumped over one of the couches, seemed to stir vague recollections in his memory. He leaned forward, eyes narrowing in concentration.

Icy awareness churned in the pit of his stomach as he realised, finally, what he was looking at.

“Tony,” he called, holstering the laser. “Call Helena. Get her down here, fast …”

“Commander ..?”

“Just do it, Tony,” growled Koenig, climbing through the hatch. Verdeschi needed so second reminder, snatching his commlock from his belt as Koenig knelt before the couch.

“Oh, my god,” he breathed, staring in horror at the unconscious man before him.

“She’s on her way, Commander,” reported Verdeschi, clambering through the hatch. “What is it ..?”

He froze as he saw the figure on the couch.

“Alan ..?” he said.

Koenig nodded.

“He must have dragged himself all the way from the city,” he replied, lifting an eyelid and probing for a pulse in Carter’s left wrist. He motioned towards the hurriedly-assembled array of pipework draped about him.

“Looks like he tried to rig up a transfusion kit,” he said, bending to listen to his chest. “See if you can find a medikit, Tony. Paracetyl or novacetamol, anything to hold him together until Helena arrives.”

“Sure, Commander,” replied Verdeschi, a dazed expression on his face. He walked towards the forward end of the pod, searching desperately for the drugs that might save his colleague’s life.

“That must be his blood on the hatch,” muttered Koenig, tearing the seal from an IV pack. “He hefted a plastic cylinder of glucose solution, frowning at the legend stencilled across it.

“Tony,” he called, tearing back the sleeve of Carter’s tunic. “See if you can rig up a stand for this.”

He flicked the seal from the disposable needle, trying to palpate a vein in the pilot’s arm.

“Novacetamol,” said Verdeschi, placing the hypo on the couch beside him. He picked up the flask of solution and hooked its carrying strap over a convenient instrument mounting frame.

“How is he?” he asked, peering into Carter’s ashen face.

“Bad,” growled Koenig. “Dammit, the vein I plugged into was almost non-existent.”

He pushed the nozzle of the hypo against Carter’s chest, releasing its contents with an impatient twist of his hand.

“Help me get these coveralls off him,” he commanded, throwing the spent hypo over the couch. “There’s so much blood I can’t see where he’s hurt …”

“John, what is it ..? Oh, god. What happened?”

Koenig turned, to see Helena, outlined by the frame of the hatch, staring in horror at the injured Alphan.

“Flesh wound,” called Verdeschi. “Looks like his shoulder …”

Helena knelt beside Koenig, suddenly brisk and business-like.

“Drugs?” she said, crisply.

“Fifteen units of novacetamol,” replied Koenig.

She nodded at the IV bottle.

“Tony, see if you can dig out another litre of glucose, and one of saline.” She frowned. “He really needs whole blood, but none of us is his type. I’ll have to give him injected electrolytes until we can get any solid food into him …”

“Helena, is he going to be all right?”

“I’m no miracle worker, John …”

“I’m not asking you to work miracles, Helena,” he snapped. “I just want you to keep him alive …”

He checked, visibly.

“Sorry, Helena,” he faltered. “I …Dammit, he got himself this far, it’s the least we can do for him …”

“Commander?”

Koenig glanced at the injured man, amazement and relief in his eyes.

“Alan ..?”

“Commander, you gotta listen …”

“Lie still, Alan,” urged Helena. “You’ve an IV drip in your arm …”

“Carole,” insisted Carter.

“Yes, Alan,” replied Koenig. “You’ve seen her?”

“Yeah, Commander. Astra …”

He winced as a spasm of pain tore through his back.

“Yes, Alan,” coaxed Koenig. “What about Astra?”

“No more questions, John,” warned Helena, squinting at the dosage meter on the side of another, inevitable hypo.

“Just a moment, Helena,” pleaded Koenig. “Alan, what about Astra?”

“He’s got Carole, Commander,” he said, hoarsely. “He picked her up with that orange light of his …”

“Okay, Alan, we’re taking care of it …”

“But you don’t understand, Commander …”

Carter jumped as the hypo fired into his shoulder.

“Commander ..?” he wavered, hearing their voices echo as if through a dark and endless tunnel

“… get some rest, Alan,” rumbled Koenig’s voice. “You’ll be all right now …”

The pilot’s eyes flickered shut, his breath shallowing out as he returned to the comforting non-sleep of unconsciousness.

Helena lifted an eyelid and frowned into a dilating pupil. She nodded, then stood up, drpping the unused hypos back into the open medikit.

“What’s the verdict, Helena?” said Koenig, face clouded with thought.

“One of these days I’ll run out of miracles, then you’ll be in real trouble,” she replied. “Let me redress this hole in his back, check him over for other damge, then we’ll see if we can get him back to Biorn’s camp. I’ll be able to give you a better estimate of his chances of survival after twenty-four hours.”

Koenig nodded, glancing towards his stricken colleague.

“Thanks, Helena,” he said, quietly.

“All part of the service, John,” she replied. “And he is a friend of mine, as well.”

“Sure, Helena,” he said. “If only Carole were back with us …”

“You’d better pray she’s still alive,” she said, nodding at Carter. “If only for his sake …”

* * *

Evestregen lifted the golden helm of the high priest, then placed it gently onto his head.

“It suits you, oh priest,” boomed the terribly familiar voice.

Evestrege spun, seeking out the orange light of his god.

“My lord …” he began, looking frantically about himself.

“You are to be congratulated,” returned Astra. “Disposing of Kemargien so quickly after our little talk.”

“He condemned himself with his own blasphemy, my lord,” replied Evestregen, regaining his confidence as he realised he was under no threat of divine retribution.

“Maneuvered, no doubt, by your own brilliant strategies,” observed Astra. Evestregen maintained a diplomatic silence.

“The great solstice,” began Astra, grandly.

“All is in readiness, my lord,” said the priest. “The offerings are prepared to journey to your side …”

“Excellent,” responded the alien.

“Only this time there will be an added bonus. The blasphemer who was once a high priest. Kemargien, the traitor to his people …”

“So be it,” called Astra. “He will make a fine partner for the barbarian female.”

Evestregen shifted uneasily.

“But …” he faltered, “she escaped from us, my lord …”

“To be recaptured by my servants,” he replied. “ She will be delivered to you on the morning of the ceremony. You will ensure,” he added, darkly, “that her death will be that of a true daughter of Astra.”

“It shall be so, my lord.”

“Very well,” called Astra, stiffly. “There have been too many mistakes over the past few days. I am relying on you to demonstrate that you are of sufficient competence to conduct my people in their worship of me.”

Evestregen nodded.

“You have my word, oh lord,” he promised. “Give the barbarian to me. With her heart and her blood she shall lead the faithful back to you. That, I swear …”

* * *

Helena closed the diagnostic scanner and stood up. Nodding to Rana, she faced Koenig.

“What’s the verdict, Helena?” he said, looking towards Carter’s comatose form. She glanced at him as the native pulled sheet across his chest.

“I’m replacing lost fluid and electrolytes as fast as his system can take it,” she replied. “The cut in his back is clean and should heal on its own now. Physically, he’s in remarkable shape, considering the punishment he’s taken.”

“Any permanent damage?”

“Not as far as the wounds are concerned, John,” she said.

“Meaning?” he demanded.

“Meaning there’s a chance – a remote chance – that he’s suffered some form of brain damage.”

She looked into Koenig’s eyes.

“You don’t just lose all that blood and not expect at least that much,” she warned.

“Only a chance?”

“But one that we must be prepared to face, John.”

He glanced at the gaunt, almost unrecognisable face of the man on the bed.

“Okay,” he said. “You’ve done all you can.” He tore his gaze away from him, turning towards the door-flap. “Stay with him, Helena. I’ve got to help Tony with the laser …”

“John …”

He paused, facing her.

“Yes, Helena?”

“Is there any possibility that we could make this planet New Earth?”

She frowned as she saw the doubt in his eyes.

“I know we decided not to try to take over an inhabited world,” she added hurriedly. “But we could find a place here, help Biorn and his people, and the people in the city, to realise their full potential as a race …”

“Assuming we defeat Astra?”

“I’m trying not to think about that, John …”

“Just that if anything were to happen to Alan and Carole, it might be a fitting tribute to them?”

She nodded.

“Could be, John,” she said. “Either way, a lot of people have sacrificed too much to let go just like that.”

Koenig inhaled, thoughtfully.

“It’s not our upsetting the civilisations here that’s our real concern, Helena,” he began. “When the ‘Thirteen accident threw us here we’d only made a few, very preliminary measurements of Luna’s course relative to 9461. We don’t really know if Alpha will bein range long enough to put Operation Exodus into effect, if at all …”

Helen’s eyebrows arched.

“You mean we could be stranded here? For good?”

“It’s a remote chance, Helena, but it is possible. Look. We can’t ship everyone in one trip. We just haven’t enough Eagles. That’s why we were building the ‘Thirteen modification. She’d be powerful enough to make several trips in the time it would take a conventional Eagle to fly the mission once …”

“But if Operation Exodus can go ahead ..?”

There was a pause as Koenig considered her argument.

“Yes,” he said, finally. “I’dissue the order for Exodus without hesitation …”

The corners of her mouth lifted with the merest of smiles.

“We could have made a poorer choice,” she said. “It’s a fine, green planet.”

He nodded.

“Yes,” he agreed. “But for a few snakes in the grass. Which reminds me,” he added, walking to the doorway, “I’m letting Tony do all the heavy work on that laser.”

He nodded at Carter.

“Take care of him for me, Helena,” he said. “He’s the best pilot I’ve got.” He smiled. “Stick with it,” he called. “We’ll worry about Operation Exodus when we’ve dealt with Astra …”

* * *

Cyann watched the lengthening shadows march across the rooftops of the city as the sun neared the horizon behind her. She pulled her gown more tightly about herself in the cold night air.

She looked up, sensing that she was no longer alone on the balcony.

“Corla?” she called. “What is it? Is there something wrong?”

“I …” faltered the other girl, “I … don’t think I want to give myself to Astra …”

Cyann frowned, glancing back into their bedroom.

“Do you know what you’re saying?” she whispered.

“Yes,” replied Corla, the first, embryonic hint of defiance in her voice. “After seeing what Siva tried to do to you … And …”

“And after seeing that man?” suggested Cyann.

Corla nodded.

“He looked so … so human. So primitive …”

“Primitive?”

“Yes. Like a beautiful, wild beast. Not a bit like the cold-hearted creatures that guard us.”

“They were primitive enough to put a hole in his shoulder,” commented Cyann, darkly.

“We could have helped him,” began Corla. “Shown him that we cared …”

Her voice whispered to silence as she stared, sightlessly at the evening sky. A terardrop trickled unheeded down her cheek.

“Oh, Cyann,” she wailed, painfully. “He was so beautiful. They can’t have killed him …”

Cyann embraced the younger girl, comforting her as if she were her own child, with instinct she never knew she had within her.

“Be still,” she soothed. “There is nothing we can do for him now. We tried to help, but failed …”

Corla leaned back, looking tearfully into the other girl’s eyes.

“I don’t want to die,” she breathed. “Not now I know what has been denied us for all these years …”

Cyann nodded.

“Neither do I,” she replied softly. “But if the priests are so powerful that they can hunt their enemies even through the house of Siva, then what can we do to stop them?”

“Nothing,” answered Corla, shaking her head as she turned to look out into the star-filled sky. “Nothing at all …”

* * *

“Skorr, can I have a word with you?”

The native looked up, seeing Helena approaching. He straightened, leaning the sword he had been sharpening against the whetstone before him.

“You master our language quickly,” he observed.

“Thank you,” she replied, “but it’s a lot like something I learned at school …”

“You wished to talk to me?”

“Yes …”

“About Etak?”

Helena paused, frowning at the man’s abruptness.

“Yes,” she said, warily. “She was your girl …”

Skorr shook his head.

“No, Helena,” he said, a rueful smile on his face. “No man can own Etak. She must own him.”

“But you like her …”

He nodded.

“Enough to have wanted to kill Tony for her,” he admitted. “Once.”

“How about now?”

He glanced across the camp.

“My feelings towards her are unchanged now as they were before,” he said. “But she has her life to lead. I cannot destroy her happiness with my selfishness.”

Helena shook her head.

“I don’t understand …” she began.

“If Etak chooses Tony, and if Tony chooses Etak, then I cannot interfere. My desire for her cannot come between her and the man she truly loves …”

Helena nodded slowly.

“Yes,” she replied. “I see. You love her very much, don’t you?”

He looked towards her.

“You are not to tell her that, Helena, ever. I cannot hurt her …”

“Yes,” said Helena. “Now I understand …"  


	21. Chapter 21

“Okay, Tony. Hit it.”

Verdeschi thumbed the control stud on the hurriedly assembled console, then glanced at the snout of the stubby chunk of machinery perched on the jury-rigged tripod sprouting from the mainframe of the downed Eagle.

There was a horrendous crack of power, and, across the clearing, a row of treetops vapourised in a violet plume of flame.

The astronaut pulled the circuit breaker and, as the laser whined into silence, scrambled eagerly from the pod.

“It works, Commander,” he called, enthusiastically.

Koenig nodded, thoughtfully.

“Yes,” he murmured, watching the white pall of smoke rise slowly above the forest. “It does, doesn’t it?”

“Three and half percent and we can set fire to trees,” commented Verdeschi. “Want to try a hundred percent?”

Koenig shook his head.

“Not until we’ve a mountain we want leveling,” he replied, a grim smile on his face. “Check the batteries. I’ll take a look at the laser.”

Verdeschi nodded and climbed back into the pod. Koenig watched him go, then climbed the rickety ladder stood against the side of the module. He studied the rack of igniter lasers, waiting for them to cool in the warm, morning air.

_Nine days,_ he thought. The job had taken longer than they’d both expected, but it had been worth waiting for. Absently he rubbed the somewhat considerable growth of beard on his chin, feeling the sense of achievement in assembling the weapon run through him.

_Survival, that’s what it’s all about. Clinging to an airless ball of rock flung through space in the greatest man-made foul-up of all time, or blowing a hole in your enemy’s home before he can do the same to you, it was all the same. It’s your life, you hold onto it, even if you have to kill the other guy to do it …_

_While he does exactly the same thing to you to stay alive himself._

_There must be a better way to run a universe …_

“Commander ..?”

Koenig pulled the primer circuit leads – their only ‘safety’ catch – and walked to the edge of the pod.

“Yes, Tony?”

“Thirty-two and half kilowatt-hours in the mains, plus five or so in the standbys. We shot point-two units in that test-fire.”

“Okay, Tony,” he nodded. “Close up. We’ll need all the power we’ve got when we use this thing in anger.”

“Back to camp?”

“Yes, I think …”

“Tony! Johnkoenig!”

The two Alphans looked out into the forest, to see Etak, astride an impossibly huge seril, smash her own path through the undergrowth into the clearing.

“What in space has got into her?” muttered Koenig, frowning at her.

“Hey, Etak,” called Verdeschi, climbing from the pod. “Ke ..?”

“Tony,” she gasped, flinging herself from the back of the great beast. “Alan …”

Koenig dropped lightly from the top of the module.

“Alan?” he repeated. “What about him?”

“Alan … is …” she faltered, struggling with the smattering of English she’d picked up listening to the Alphans at work. “”Veh … come to …”

“Yes?” prompted Verdeschi, eagerly. “Alan’s what?”

“Veh … u conscio …”

“Consciousness? “ snapped Verdeschi. “He’s awake?”

“About time, too,” muttered Koenig, darkly, heaving a massive inward sigh of relief. He glanced at Verdeschi.

“You shut down the laser?” he asked.

“Yes, Commander. Circuits are clear and safeties are in.” He looked towards Etak, seeing her eyes mirror his renewed hope for the injured man.

“Then what are we waiting for?” growled Koenig. “Lead on, Etak. We’re right behind you …”

* * *

Rana peered hopefully at Helena as the doctor bent over Carter’s pale-faced form.

“Helena?” she whispered, “is he ..?”

She shook her head.

“He’s certainly fighting something,” she reported. “Pulse rate’s up, respiration’s deepening …”

She reached across him for a rack of hypos stood permanently on his bedside table. Picking one up, she broke its seal and, drawing back the sheet that covered him, prepared to fire it into the front of his left shoulder.

She almost dropped the instrument in her surprise as his left eyelid blinked.

“Alan ..? Alan, can you hear me?”

His lips twitched uncertainly.

“Mmr ..umph?” he managed, tiredly.

Joy boiled through her. Inarticulate mumblings they may have been, they were the first things he’d said in more than a week.

“Alan,” she called, eagerly. “Lie still. You’ve been hurt …”

A furred tongue licked antiseptic-dried lips.

“Helena ..?” he croaked.

“Here, Alan,” she replied, taking his right hand in hers. No longer a mere doctor, now, she had begun, quite literally, to will him back to his hold on life.

“Can’t see you, Helena,” he confessed.

“It’s all right,” she promised. “You’ve been unconscious for a long time …”

“How long, Helena?”

“Almost nine days …”

“Nine ..?”

He tried to sit up, her hand on his chest proving more than a match for the meager reserves of strength available to him.

“Feel so goddamn’ hungry …”

“That’s understandable,” she replied, softly. “You’ve had no solid food for almost a fortnight …”

“Carole …”

She placed a silencing finger on his lips.

“Tony and the Commander are taking care of things,” she said. “Don’t worry. She’s going to be all right …”

_I hope,_ she added, under her breath.

Thanks, Helena,” he whispered.

She smiled, for what felt like the first time since they’d carried him into Biorn’s camp.

“Try to get some sleep,” she ordered, replacing the sheet across his chest.

“Is Tony there?” he said. “I want …”

“Alan?!”

Koenig, a breathless Verdeschi on his heels, burst through the door-flap.

“Alan,” called Verdeschi, standing over him. “Are you all right ..?”

Koenig frowned at Helena.

“Has he suffered any brain damage?” he demanded, quietly.

“Tony, that you?”

“Yes, Alan. What is it?”

“Can you do something for me?” said Carter, painfully.

Verdeschi glanced at Helena, then looked towards his injured colleague.

“Sure, Alan,” he said. “Anything.”

“Tony, old mate, I’m starving,” he confessed. “See if you can rustle me up a T-bone steak, not less than two-and-a-half inches thick, blood-rare, and with all the trimmings …”

Verdeschi grinned. Koenig smiled, looking into Helena’s face.

“That answer your question, John?” she asked.

He nodded. “Perhaps,” he said. “Okay, Tony,” he called, “you heard the man. Get him his steak and maybe we can organise this circus into some semblance of a rescue team.”

“Sure Commander,” he said, glancing at Carter. “It’s good to have you back, Alan,” he affirmed.

“Thanks, Tony,” he replied, an inevitable smile creasing his face. “It’s good to be back …”

* * *

“Alan Carter, you get back into bed this minute!”

Carter slumped onto the side of the bed and ran a tired hand through his ruffled shock of hair, glancing at Helena as she crossed the room towards him.

“Huh,” he groaned, aiming a frown at her. “The honeymoon was soon over, wasn’t it?”

She lifted his feet back beneath the bedclothes and pointed the diagnostic scanner threateningly towards him.

“I wouldn’t call only twelve hours of consciousness after being out for nine days long enough recuperation to be dashing about the camp trying to find someone idiot enough to help you get into the city again …” she began, darkly.

“I was only trying to get a little exercise,” he complained.

“You can get all the exercise you’ll be able to handle for a while just inhaling and exhaling,” she said.

He glanced at her.

“I’m going with the Commander and Tony into the city,” he warned.

She frowned.

“How’s the shoulder?” she demanded, nodding at the bandages that swathed his chest.

“A little stiff,” he admitted. “I think the cut’s closed, though …”

“Alan, you’re still too weak …”

He looked towards the mouse, propped against a packet of drugs on his bedside table.

“I’m going into that city, Helena,” he repeated, firmly. “And all the doctors in the galaxy won’t stop me.”

She frowned at the mouse, then studied him in thoughtful silence.

“We’ll see, Alan,” she said, suddenly, standing and walking to the door-flap. “Get some rest. We’ll see how you feel in a couple of days …”

He turned to face her, his eyes shining the colour of liquid oxygen.

“Carole may not have a couple of days. Helena,” he warned. “I can’t leave her. I promised I’d try to help her …”

“All right, Alan. I, uh … We’ll just have to wait and see, that’s all …”

She shrugged her shoulders and, before he could argue further, backed from the room, chastising herself as she walked across the starlit ground towards Koenig’s tent. She’d taken the easy way out, leading him on with the promise that he could join his colleagues in their attempt at rescuing the girl he loved, and she hated herself for it. Deceit and half-truths were self-defeating, and she knew it. But she’d had no choice …

“Helena?”

She startled at her name, looking up to see Koenig’s concerned face.

“You look worried. Something wrong?”

“Uh, no, John,” she replied. “Nothing in particular. Why?”

“Ever since Alan came round you’ve been walking in a daze.” He frowned. “You haven’t found something wrong with him? Is there brain damage?”

She shook her head, managing a smile for his benefit.

“No, John,” she replied. “Alan’s too thick-skinned to let a little lost blood bother him …”

“Then what is it?”

“Nothing, John …”

“Look, Helena, I know you too well for me not to see there’s something bothering you. What’s wrong?”

She walked beside him into the tent, her face clouded with concern.

“I’m not just worried about Alan,” she began, sitting on a corner of the table that stood in the center of the tent's entrance.

“Who then?” said Koenig. “Tony? And Etak?”

She nodded.

“I just haven’t the heart to tell him about her,” she said. “Not yet, anyway. Biorn told me how much of a flirt she was, and I was hoping it would be just another passing affair.”

She glanced at Koenig.

“But if anything they’ve come closer together over the past few days …”

“In other words,” said Koenig, looking into her eyes, “it could be a permanent relationship.”

“Yes,” she replied, simply.

“And you think our staying here would solve the problem of whether or not they stay together and, if they do, what their choice would be between here and Alpha?”

Helena shook her head.

“I only wish it were that easy, John,” she said. “Certainly we could hardly wish for a better planet to turn into New Earth, but I’m thinking more of Etak and her family.”

“Biorn and Ebron?” You think they’d object to Tony becoming her husband?”

“Not in so many words, John,” she replied. “Look, have you noticed conscious the people here are of their family ties? Biorn is so obviously proud of his son and daughter …”

“And family means children?” completed Koenig, beginning to see her train of thought. “And grand-children? That Biorn would expect her to bear for him?”

Helena face a tiny shrug of her shoulders.

“He wouldn’t be much of a parent if he didn’t, John.”

“Yes, he admitted. “I see your point.”

“And what about Tony?” she reminded him. “Isn’t it reasonable to expect that he’d want to perpetuate his memory through his children?”

Koenig nodded, glancing at her.

“Has he actually told you that his relationship with Etak is that serious?”

“No, John. Has he said anything to you?”

“Not to the extent that he’d want to leave Alpha,” he replied. “And I wouldn’t expect him to, either. It’s not the sort of thing you can discuss easily with your commanding officer …”

“But you see the problem,” she said. “No matter what happens we stand to hurt someone. If we return to the Moon and leave Etak here, he’ll be parted from her. Take her with us and Biorn loses his only daughter, as she loses her family and friends. In any event, even if we decided to make our new home here, they both lose out by not being able to have children …”

“You’re still so sure about that,” noted Koenig.

“I’m just being realistic, John.”

“Yes,” he said, bitter reluctance colouring his voice. “Of course you are …”

He shook his head, tiredly.

“Dammit, Helena,” he growled. “There’s more than just the responsibility of command involved here. Tony and Alan are practically family themselves, as are everyone on Alpha …”

“Including me?” she suggested, softly, seeking to share his lonely burden of command.

A rueful hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Especially you,” he replied, quietly, seeing he return the smile, reading volumes in the message transmitted by her eyes.

“Bit of an incestuous relationship, isn’t it?” she observed.

“It’s all part of the game,” he said. “I certainly didn’t write the rules. Let’s face it, Helena, Alpha’s become a tiny version of Earth. We stopped being just a moonbase when we were thrown out of orbit. Now we’re totally independent, and it’s up to use to survive as best we can.”

“And learn to tolerate the inevitable casualties?”

“That’s right. It’s just a basic fact of life,” he warned. “Like Etak and Tony …”

“Or Carole and Alan,” she reminded him. “John, we don’t even know if she’s still alive, let alone whether we can save her or not.”

Koenig’s eyes, glittering with a determination she’d seen in those of the young pilot, pierced here where she sat.

“Alan still has faith in her,” he said. “The least we can do is share a little of it, if only for his sake.”

“Yes,” she replied. “Yes, of course.”

She smiled.

“For Alpha’s senior medical officer, I’m not much comfort in times of crisis, am I?”

An honest grin lit Koenig’s face.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that, Helena,” he said. “At least, your one hell of a comfort for one Alphan …”

“Thank you, John,” she whispered.

He frowned.

“Now what have I done,” he demanded, gently.

“All the right things, as usual,” she said.

“I try, Helena,” he affirmed. “I really try …”

“Sure, John,” she said, standing and walking towards him. “And, if it is any comfort, I believe Carole is still alive.”

“We’ll see,” he replied, slipping an arm instinctively about her waist. “C’mon, Helena, let’s get some sleep. It’ll be another day tomorrow …”

“Sleep?” she repeated, glancing at him with a twinkle in her eye.

“Well,” he suggested, “eventually, perhaps.”

She aimed a conspiratorial smile at him, then released herself from his embrace and walked towards the bed-chamber.

_Another day,_ he thought, watching her move across the room. _Another day nearer the solstice, another day nearer the great ceremony to Astra …  
And another day nearer the promised time of Carole’s murder …_

* * *

Carole awoke with a start, incing at the hot, white light that reflected from the walls of her prison.

“Nurse Irwin!”

She sat up, wiping the sleep-grains from the corners of her eyes.

“What is it?” she demanded. “Run out of natives to torment?”

“It is good that you retain such spirit,” called Astra. “It seems that I may have underestimated your kind. Certainly you are coping with this period of confinement with admirable courage …”

“Stop it!” she yelled. “I’ll not let you make me the subject of one of your fancy experiments. My soul’s my own …”

“Until the ceremony, when my people offer it as their gift to me,” reminded the alien, coolly.

“Go to hell,” she hissed. “If this is your idea of Utopia, then I’m glad I won’t be around too much longer …”

“I’m glad you see it that way, my dear,” replied Astra, a hiss of menace beginning to taint his words.

“What do you mean?” she said, uncertainly.

“I have decided,” he replied slowly, “to bring the ceremony forward by one day.”

He paused, allowing the pool of ice that had formed in the pit of her stomach time enough to wring the last gram of terro from her being.

“Relish this night, Nurse Irwin,” he murmured. “For it shall be the last that you will experience in this lifetime …”

She stared blindly as the blank wall-screen, fighting the pounding of her heart. Then, as desperation overcame her horror, she called to him.

“Am I allowed any last requests?”

There was a moments silence as Astra considered her question.

“What kind of request?” he demanded.

“I must know if Alan is still alive. That’s all that matters to me now. Can you find him with this viewscreen thing?”

“Alan Carter is no longer in the temple complex,” he replied. “And I am incapable of searching beyond the city walls.”

“But you must have seen him before he … I mean, if he left the city …”

“Carter was dying when I took you from the stable,” he said, darkly. “I can no longer find him in the city.”

She hung her head in sorrow, weeping silently at his memory.

“If you wish,” continued Astra, his voice suddenly, unexpectedly soft and comforting, “I can replay for you the moments that you spent with him …”

She lifted her head, wiping the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Yes,” she whispered “Please, if that’s all there is to remember him by, I’ll see it again …”

“Very well,” said Astra. “The request is granted. Relive your moments of tenderness, child. Until,” he added, ominously, as the screen glowed once more, “you are called to the morrow’s sacrifice …”

* * *

The sun had not long risen into the morning sky when Cyann’s troubled dreams dissolved into wakefulness. She lay, quietly, for several minutes, watching the hard shafts of sunlight swirl tiny motes of dust in the heavily scented air of the bedroom. She looked towards Corla, sleeping peacefully beside her, recalling the memory of the injured man they had tried to hide from Siva and the priests.

She looked up as the rattle of door-bolts being drawn sounded across the chamber.

“Corla,” she called, urgently, shaking the girl’s shoulder.

A pair of sleep-soaked eyes blinked uncertainly at her.

“Cyann?” she whispered. “What is it?”

As if in answer, the door crashed open, Siva, an entourage of maidservants about her, striding imperiously into the room.

“Cyann, Corla,” she said, harshly. “I will have words with you.”

Cyann sat up, frowning as, beyond Siva, she could see Zena, a downcast expression on her face.

“Zena?” she challenged. “What is this?”

“Forgive me, Cyann,” the other girl replied, “I had no choice …”

“Silence!” commanded Siva. “Zena, stand forward. Repeat for Cyann’s benefit what you told me.”

Cyann’s eyes narrowed as she studied the crestfallen girl, noting the discoloured patches across her throat and arms.

“The day after the priests found the barbarian and his woman in the palace,” she began, haltingly, “I heard Cyann and Corla speaking blasphemy against Astra …”

Zena flinched as Siva scowled at her.

“Do you deny this?” she demanded, rounding on Cyann.

She glanced at Corla.

“No,” she said drily, looking towards Siva. “I do not deny it.”

Siva advanced upon her, standing angrily over her.

“You,” she hissed, “are a disgrace to your people and your god. But Astra’s mercy is great. You are to be given the chance to redeem yourself in his eyes, to destroy the cancer of blasphemy by offering yourselves at the great solstice ceremony to the glorification of his name.”

Cyann’s jaw dropped.

“We are to be sacrificed? Both of us?”

Siva nodded.

“At tomorrow’s sunrise,” she replied.

“Tomorrow?” squeaked Corla. “But the solstice …”

“Evestregen has heard the word of Astra,” said Siva, darkly. “ The ceremony has been brought forward to reassure our Lord Astra that our faith is as strong as it ever was, and as a warning against those who dare to defile his sacred memory.”

Siva looked between them, nodding in triumph at the horror in Cyann’s eyes.

“Prepare yourselves,” she ordered. “Show Astra that your faith is pure, and you shall walk with him in joy and peace in the life to come …”

* * *

Rana smiled nervously as she placed the bowl of food on the low table beside Carter’s bed. He nodded, politely, returning her smile as she backed from his bedroom. He glanced at the selection of alien fruits the bowl contained, choosing a blue-skinned thing and eying it suspiciously.

“You peel it like a banana, and it tastes like an apple,” called a voice.

He looked across the room, seeking out the source of the sound. Verdeschi, a wide grin on his face, with Etak at his side, was standing in the tent’s doorway.

“Morning, Alan,” he said, walking towards him. “How d’you feel?”

“Fine,” replied Carter, aiming an admiring smile at Etak. “Helena doesn’t seem to think so, though.”

Verdeschi nodded.

“Any real damage?” he asked. “Apart from the shoulder?”

Carter shook his head.

“No,” he said. “I feel fine. A little stiff, perhaps …”

Verdeschi’s grin returned. He glanced at the girl who was now standing at the head of Carter’s bed, studying him with a thoughtful look on her face.

“I’ll have Etak give you a massage,” he said, nodding at her. “She has a touch you won’t believe …”

Carter’s eyebrows lifted as he looked towards her. She smiled, modestly, trying to avoid his eyes.

“Thanks for the offer, Tony,” he said. “No hard feelings, Etak, but there’s only one girl I really want, now.”

“Carole?”

Carter nodded.

“You had any more news of her?” he said, dropping the piece of fruit, untouched, back into the bowl.

“Not for a while, Alan,” replied Verdeschi, shaking his head. “The last we’d heard was that Astra had promised to return her to be sacrificed at the solstice ceremony.”

“He actually talks to the people?”

“Not really. He’s supposed to speak only to the high priest …”

“When’s the ceremony to be held?”

“According to Biorn, the morning after tomorrow. We’re planning on launching an attack during the ceremony, the same way we rescued Etak …”

“Two days,” murmured Carter. “Good,” he decided, “that should be enough time …”

Verdeschi frowned.

“Enough time for what?”

Cater sat up, stretching the muscles of his back as he did so.

“Time to get fit again,” he replied. I’ve been stuck here for too damn’ long …”

He threw the blankets from the bed, not realising that, beneath the bedclothes, he was as naked as he had been when he’d regained consciousness in Astra’s infamous white room.

Etak giggled, turning her back shyly upon him.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” growled Carter, retrieving one of the blankets to drape across himself. “Tony, can you find me something to wear ..?”

Verdeschi grinned as he watched Etak, smiling mischievously at Cater out of the corner of her eye.

“Sure, Alan,” he called, turning and crossing the room. “I think I can find something to fit you. Come on, you,” he added, patting Etak’s rump as he passed her. “What’s the matter? Never seen a naked Australian before …?”

She glanced at him, a shine in her eyes.

“Streng homono!” she whispered, slipping an arm about Verdeschi’s waist. “Beiden,” she affirmed, kissing him.

Verdeschi fired a lopsided smile at his colleague.

“I have this strange, indefinable way with women,” he reported, as if in explanation.

Carter nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “I know what you mean …”

“Tony!”

Both Alphans looked towards the door-flap as Helena burst through it. She paused, looking at Carter’s disarrayed bedding.

“What’s been going on in here ..?” she began.

“I’ll explain later,” promised Verdeschi. “What is it? Something wrong?”

“The solstice ceremony …”

“What about it?” called Carter, concern furrowing his forehead.

“It’s been brought forward a day. A messenger arrived from the city a few minutes ago. They’ll hold the ceremony tomorrow morning …”

“That does it!” snapped Carter. “Tony, get me some clothing …”

“And where do you think you’re going?” challenged Helena.

“To the city, he replied. “Where else?”

“Alan Carter, you’ll stay in that bed until I say otherwise, or by the heavens I’ll …”

“No way, Helena,” he insisted. “I’m going into that city and nobody, least of all you, is going to stop me. Now, do I get something to wear or do I go looking for Carole like this?”

Helena glared at him, every muscle tensed to back up the verbal argument the doctor within her had summoned.

A moment passed between them …

Suddenly she relaxed, exhaling with a sigh.

“All right, Alan,” she said. “ You win. Get him what he wants, Tony. It’s his fight as much as ours now …”


	22. Chapter 22

Carter eased his right arm into the coveralls, turning to glance at his reflection in the mirror as he tied the closures across his chest. He inhaled, forming a fist with his right hand, nodding thoughtfully as he catalogued the sensations that ran through his body.

Verdeschi’s head appeared around the door-flap.

“Ready, Alan?” he called.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he replied, crossing the room towards him.

“You sure you’re going to be all right?” said Verdeschi, standing back as Carter strode through the doorway into the sun-washed clearing.

His eyes narrowed in the blood-red glow of the setting sun, looking along the line of covered carts that stood in the center of the camp.

His head lifted as he saw Koenig walking towards him.

“How’re you feeling, Alan?”

Carter’s face crumpled with a rueful smile.

“I’m getting a little tired of people asking me that, Commander,” he said. “I’ll be okay, but I’ll feel a lot better with city pavement beneath my feet.”

Koenig nodded, looking towards the golden orb sinking towards the far treeline.

“You’ll not have long to wait,” he promised. “Biorn wants to be in the city by nightfall.”

“How?” interrupted Carter, indicating the carts with a tilt of his head. “In these things?”

“Yes,” said Koenig. “We join the farm labourers as they return to the city. Apparently it’s quite a well-used route …”

He watched Carter closely, seeing the impatience in his eyes.

“All right, Alan,” he said, finally. “Here, you may need this.”

His hand extended, offering what turned out to be a commlock to the pilot. Carter took it, seeking out the identification plate on its side.

“Carole’s commlock?” he said, aiming a frown at Koenig.

The Commander nodded.

“We lost ours when Astra picked us up, remember?” he said. “I’m taking Tony’s. We’ve rigged up a remote command circuit into the laser. All I have to do is press the switch and we slice the top off Astra’s mountain …”

“You hope,” added Carter.

“Hey, hold on a minute,” called Verdeschi, “I wired the circuits myself.”

Carter smiled.

“Sure. I know you’re a rotten engineer, but even you could rig up that laser.”

“Great,” observed Verdeschi, “it’s a real comfort to know your own partner has so much faith in you …”

“How do you know you’ve got the right mountain?” pointed out Carter.

“Tell you what,” said Verdeschi. “If it isn’t, I’ll get you a refund on the lasers. Okay?”

Koenig grinned, shaking his head.

“You know you’re crazy, the pair of you,” he said.

“Yeah,” replied Carter. “Maybe we are. Just like it’s crazy to want to live in a tin house on some airless chunk of rock, or go on suicidal missions to rescue a girl we don’t even know is still alive.”

He looked into Koenig’s face.

“Sure we’re crazy,” he said. “We always have been, and we always will be.”

Koenig nodded, thoughtfully, in the silence that followed.

“Yes, Alan,” he said. “I know.”

He glanced at the carts, seeing activity around them.

“Come on,” he called, briskly. “Action at last.”

Carter and Verdeschi followed him towards the strange convoy.

“You’ll be in the third cart,” stated Koenig, over his shoulder. “I’ll be with Biorn in the first, Helena will keep watch from the rearmost wagon.”

“Anything you say, Commander,” replied Verdeschi, climbing over the tailgate of his cart. “Alan?”

He turned, to see the pilot studying the six-legged creature that pulled the vehicle with amazement on his face.

“I see it,” he muttered, “but I don’t have to believe it.”

He backed from the beast, nodding politely at the driver as he climbed into the cart. Stepping carefully over a couple of Biorn’s men, he slumped against the tailgate. Across the shadowy interior of the cart, Verdeschi, Etak by his side, was watching him closely.

“Carole sure has gotten under your skin, hasn’t she?” he observed. “I mean, you’ve had more than your fair share of girlfriends in your time, but I’ve never seen you like this before.”

“She’s in trouble,” Carter said, automatically. “I’d do the same for anyone else …”

Verdeschi nodded.

“Yes,” he replied. “You probably would at that.”

Carter cleared his throat.

“You’re right, though,” he admitted. “She is different. Hell, the kid’s got spirit. You know, when I found her I was bleeding like a stuck pig, but she kept her head, cleaned up the wound and put a bandage on it.”

He looked into Verdeschi’s face.

“Dammit, I owe her my life.” He smiled. “No, Tony, Carole’s not just another girlfriend. She’s a darn sight more than just a pretty body, or something warm and soft to lie in bed with …”

He grabbed at the side of the cart as it lurched forward, then leaned back, favouring the bruises on his wounded shoulder.

“She took all they could sling at her without a whimper,” he added. “Even when I …”

He checked himself, realising what he was saying.

“When you what?” asked Verdeschi.

“Nothing,” he said. “Just a little something between ourselves …”

Verdeschi frowned, beginning to sense a hint of the truth.

“Only a little something?” he observed, a glint in his eye.

Carter shrugged his shoulders, watching him squeeze Etak a fraction tighter against his side. She smiled.

“Now, now, Tony,” he said, nodding at her. “You’ll embarrass the young lady …”

“Embarrass?” muttered Verdeschi. “Alan, I reckon she could teach even you a thing or two.” He stroked her bare midriff, patting the smoothly tanned skin across her stomach. “You now those blue things that look like bananas?”

Carter nodded.

“I’m telling you, watching her eat one of those is positively painful. Hell, it’s an education in itself …”

Carter began laughing, a jab of pain reminding him of his shoulder. He grinned at Etak, seeing the joy in her eyes as she glanced at Verdeschi.

“Hey, that’s better,” called the Alphan. “I thought you’d never smile again.” He paused, face suddenly serious for a moment.

“We’ll get her out, Alan,” he said. “If she’s still alive, we’ll get her, like we saved Etak.”

“Thanks, Tony,” replied Carter, “I know you will.” He glanced towards Etak. “Hey,” he said, as the cart rumbled nearer to the city, “tell me about those bananas again, will you …”

* * *

The shadowy fingers of evening lengthened into night. Koenig studied the doom-laden city walls as, on the bench seat beside him, Biorn urged the seril carefully along the rutted road.

“Urbo di Astra,” said the native, simply, never once relinquishing his gaze upon the pool of light that sprang from the foot of the wall.

Koenig nodded, unclipping the commlock from his belt. He punched a call sequence on the array of little black buttons on its front, then looked into the viewscreen in its top. The image tumbled crazily for a moment, then stabilised, settling on a split screen image of both Helena and Carter.

“We’re at the city gates,” he whispered. “Now we’ll see how efficient their guards are …”

“And hope they haven’t learned too much from the last raid,” suggested Carter.

“You said it, Alan, agreed Koenig. “I’m leaving the comm circuit open. Any sign of trouble and you pull out …”

“John …” began Helena.

“That’s an order, Helena,” interrupted Koenig. “Stick with it troops. I’ll see you later. I hope,” he breathed, looking towards the group of sombre people in the half-moon of light before them. A touch of a silvered stud killed the screen, leaving the commlock’s audio link in circuit, relaying the dram that was to unfold to his colleagues in the other carts. He propped the commlock on the seat between himself and Biorn, pulling the hood of his cloak around his face as they neared the gate.

“Hold!” called an authoritative voice. Biorn reined in the seril, the cart creaking obediently to a halt.

A guard, an unsheathed sword held warily in his hand, stepped forward from the gloom of the gatehouse.

“State your identity and business,” he demanded, frowning at Biorn with the automatic suspicion of a true bodyguard.

“Avtur, houseman of Bacoun,” replied Biorn, easily. “Servants and toilers of the field, to witness and worship at the ceremony of the great solstice.”

Koenig could see that the trooper had not been entirely convinced. “You,” he snapped, poiting the tip of his sword at the Alphan. “Open the cart. I will examine its contents.”

Koenig glanced at Biorn, hoping that he’d translated the soldier’s commands correctly. The native slipped the commlock beneath his cloak as the Alphan stood and climbed from the cart. He walked to the rear, unfastening tie-down straps as he went. Then, with an almost theatrical flourish, he pulled the tilt from its frame …

Even Koenig had been unprepared for the sight that met his eyes. Elnhe, naked but for a handful of straw clutched modestly before her, shuffled against the far end of the cart as Ebron endeavoured to rearrange what little remained of his clothing. Uttering a squeal of protest, the girl began throwing things at Koenig and the guard, who, a surprised smile on his face, was casting admiring glances at her.

He dodged back as an earthenware jug the size of his helm whistled past his cheekguard.

“All right,” he said, nodding at Koenig. “Close up. I’ve seen all I need to see. Goodnight, my dear,” he added, aiming a mock salute at Elnhe. “I trust your stay here will be a pleasurable one …”

Koenig threw the sheet of canvas back over the hooped frames, then followed the guard to the front of the cart as he conversed with Biorn.

“Their wedding night …” began the native, by way of explanation.

“So I observed,” said the guard. “Proceed,” he said, motioning that the gate be opened. “And let’s hope that the first child’s a girl. The priests seem to be running short of sacrifices these days.”

Biorn nodded.

“If it be the will of Astra,” he stated. “Good night, trooper. May Astra walk with you.”

“And you, oh servant of Bacoun.”

Koenig climbed to sit beside Biorn once more, smiling at the guard as the native urged the great beast forward. Biorn was grinning as they cleared the city wall. He glanced over his shoulder.

“It worked, my son,” he said.

“Like a dream, oh father,” replied Ebron, pulling a leather jacket onto his back as, behind him, Elnhe climbed into her fighting clothes.

Ebron rummaged beneath the straw, uncovering swords, axes, and a variety of edged weapons.

“Here, Johnkoenig,” he said, offering him a double-edged sword. “You may find a use for this.”

Koenig eyed the weapon doubtfully. A friendly game of Kendo in a gym back on Alpha was one thing, but he’d be fighting for his life …

A sudden bleep from the commlock solved, temporarily at least, the dilemma for him.

“Koenig, yes?” he said, looking into its top.

“Helena, John,” she replied, as her image rippled across the viewscreen. “We made it,” she reported, breathlessly. “I don’t know how we fooled them, but the guards let us through without a murmur.”

Koenig smiled, imagining a ‘honeymoon couple’ in each of the carts.

“Remind me to show you how we did it some time,” he replied.

The cart slewed to a halt beside a tall, impressively grand structure.

“We’ve arrived,” reported Koenig, as Ebron climbed down, taking the reins from Biorn and looping them through a ring set in the wall above them. As if to be doubly sure that the seril would be waiting for them on their return, he unwrapped a stout, iron chain from its harness and ran it through a similar ring that emerged from the pavement.

With a smile of encouragement, Elnhe pressed the sword into Koenig’s hand, draping a belted scabbard over his forearm. She vaulted the side of the cart, walking towards Ebron, giving the seril an affectionate pat as she passed it.

“Time short, Johnkoenig,” reported Biorn, buckling a wide, metal studded belt about his waist. “We find safe tent .. uh, safe house for the night. Understand?”

“Yo,” replied Koenig, glancing at the other carts as they discharged their passengers into the cool night air, “vestend.”

Carter strode forward, fastening the clasp of a cloak bout his neck. Koenig’s left eyebrow arched as he noted the war-axe slung over the pilot’s left hip.

“You know how to use that thing?” he challenged.

“Sure, Commander,” replied Carter, genuine surprise in his voice. “I used to train with them, back in the Air Force. Best close combat weapons ever invented, and” he added, seeing Helena approach from her cart, “less of a strain on my bard shoulder than a sword …”

“There’d be even less strain if you were to leave the fighting to Biorn and his men,” she observed.

“Helena, we’ve already been through all that,” he reminded her, pulling the wonderfully warm cloak about himself.

“Sure, Alan,” she began, “but …”

“Biorn!” hissed a voice, from the darkness at the far end of the street. “Domo di Astra!”

“Yo,” acknowledged the native, facing the Alphans. “Men of Astra,” he said, “with me. We find friends in the city.”

Koenig glanced at his companions. Carter, unshaven, clad in animal skins and with a battle-axe on his hip, looked every inch a Viking raider. Verdeschi, similarly hirsute, a broadsword in one hand and the slim-waisted Amazon on his other arm, merely added to the bizarre aspect of the scene. Even Helena, dressed in a dark, woollen jumpsuit with a small medikit slung over her shoulder, could have stepped straight from the pages of a pulp-fiction Sword and Sorcery magazine.

He shook his head.

“We must all be crazy,” he said, finally.

“Yeah, Commander,” replied Carter, glancing at Verdeschi. “But I reckon Carole’s worth it.”

Koenig nodded, slowly, thoughtfully.

“Yes,” he said. “I think she is.”

He smiled, looking towards Biorn.

“Okay, team,” he called. “Let’s find this safe house of Biorn’s. It’s gonna be a long night …”

“Yeah,” muttered Carter, darkly, “and an even longer dawn …”

* * *

Biorn’s ‘safe house’ turned out to be a sumptuously-appointed mansion block, owned by a rich merchant who owed some kind of allegiance to the native tribe.

At least, Koenig assumed the owner to be a merchant. Certainly Biorn was revealing little as the the identity of their benefactor, though the silks and tapestries that decorated the room advertised his wealth with every wind-blown twist of colour.

On any other occasion but this, Carter would have lapped this all up, enjoying the food and wine – not to mention the maidservants that fussed around them – with all his being. But the memory that Carole was in the hands of a maniac soured everything for him.

Waving away the girl bearing the jug of wine for what felt like the hundredth time, he stood and cross the room towards Helena.

“Yes, Alan?” she said, glancing up at him. “Can I do anything?”

“It’s no use, Helena,” he replied, “I’m gonna try to get some sleep …”

“Sure, Alan,” she replied. “I understand. Biorn said there were bedrooms upstairs …”

He nodded.

“Thanks, Helena,” he said, tiredly. “I’ll find one. Goodnight, everybody.”

Verdeschi watched him climb the wide sweeping stairway.

“Say,” he said, catching Etak’s eye with a glance, “that might not be a bad idea after all …”

She smiled unwinding herself from his embrace, then stood and walked across the room, pausing on the stair’s lowermost step to look back at him.

He grinned, making to follow her.

“Ah, Tony ...” began Helena.

He glanced at her.

“Yes, Helena?”

“Can I, uh … Can I have a word with you?”

Verdeschi looked from her to Etak, then back again.

“Can’t it wait?” he asked, a frown beginning to wash across his face.

“I don’t think so,” she said, adding: “It shouldn’t take long.”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“Okay, Helena,” he said. “What is it?”

“Can I talk with you alone?”

There was a pause. Finally he nodded.

“Whatever you say, Helena,” he said, glancing at Etak. “Veh, felsa,” he commanded, “sumo cubitu …”

She giggled, replying with mewing, kitten-like calls. Verdeschi watched her as she padded upwards, facing Helena only when she had gone from his sight.

“All right,” he said. “What is it?”

“Please, Tony,” she called. “Sit down. This is going to be difficult enough as it is …”

He sat beside her on the couch.

“What’s going to be difficult, Helena?”

“It’s about you and Etak,” she said, quietly. He frowned.

What about Etak?” he demanded.

It didn’t take long for Helena to explain her theories concerning the bio-genetic makeup of Etak and her people, but by the time she had finished Verdeschi’s face was shocked and drawn. He sat in silence for several moments after she had finished, eyes staring sightlessly before him.

“Oh, my god,” he whispered, finally. He looked into her eyes.

“You’re sure?” he said. “About us being incompatible?”

She nodded.

“The chances are billions to one against you being able to have children,” she said.

“If we want children …” he began, desperately.

“Oh, come on, Tony,” she said. “Who are you trying to fool?”

He gave her a thin smile.

“Nobody, I guess.”

He exhaled with a sigh.

“Dammit it, Helena. How the hell do I tell her?”

She looked into his eyes.

“I think you’ll find a way, Tony,” she replied. He nodded.

“Yes,” he said, wearily. “I guess I will.”

He turned, facing the stairway.

“If it’ll be any help,” she said, “I’ll try and explain to Biorn …”

“Thanks, Helena. I’d be obliged if you would …”

He shook his head.

“I can’t tell her tonight,” he said. “I …”

“Go to her, Tony. Break it to her gently, but …”

She leaned forward, a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Tony,” she said. “But you had to know.”

He placed a hand upon hers.

“Sure, Helena,” he replied. “I know. I understand …”

“Go back to her,” she urged. “There’ll be plenty of time to tell her. Let her be happy for another few hours.”

He nodded and, without a sound, stood and walked to the stairs. He paused, glancing back at her.

The smile of thanks on his face told her she had done right. He deserved to know. His was the right …

He climbed from the room, leaving her to her thoughts.

A tear trickled down her cheek.

_Dammit,_ she thought, _if I was right to tell him, why do I feel so terrible about it ..?_

* * *

It felt to Carter as though he’d been staring at the ceiling for hours. True, the bed was soft and the blankets were warm, but his troubled mind would allow him little rest. It was no use, he realised, he was too keyed-up to sleep. Like a rookie pilot and the eve of his first solo flight, every fibre of his body sensed the approach of the dawn.

He stood and walked to the room’s balconied window, looking up at the stars glittering in the crystal-clear sky. Strange, he thought, to be on a planet without a moon, without a light to shine through the hours of the darkness between sunset and sunrise. No wonder the people are so relieved to see the sun every morning …

“Alan..?”

He turned, seeing Koenig framed in the room’s open doorway.

“Yes, Commander?”

“Am I interrupting anything?”

Carter shook his head.

”No, Commander,” he replied. “Only a few daydreams, perhaps …”

“About Carole?” said Koenig, advancing to lean against the balcony wall.

Carter glanced at him.

“If you’re worried about me coping with the possibility that she’s dead …”

Koenig shifted his gaze from the city rooftops to his face.

“Can you?” he said, quietly.

Carter shrugged his shoulders.

“I did before,” he said, looking back to the city.

“If she is dead …”

“If she’s dead, she’s dead, Commander,” he snapped. “For crying out loud, a fortnight ago I didn’t even know she existed. I still have my job to do when we get back to Alpha, whether she returns with me or not won’t make any difference. If Astra kills her, there’s nothing I can do to bring her back …”

The sudden realisation that he was shouting stilled the words in his throat. He shook his head.

“Anyway,” he continued softly, “It’s not me you should be worried about.”

Koenig frowned.

“Who then?” he asked.

“Tony,” he replied. “What’s he and Etak going to do when Alpha arrives?”

“Leave her here,” Koenig replied, simply.

Carter glanced at him.

“You sound damn’ sure …”

“He doesn’t have much choice, Alan. It’s either that, or having one of them tied to a lie of misery for the rest of their days …”

Carter shook his head.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “What d’you mean?”

“Do you understand the term ‘genetic incompatability’?”

Carter leaned back, realisation flooding his face.

“Yes,” he replied. “They can’t have children, right? Not each other’s, anyway.”

“That’s it in a nutshell,” said Koenig.

“Does Tony know?”

Koenig nodded.

“And Etak?”

“He wants to tell her himself …”

Carter, face set as if carved from granite, looked sightlessly out at the city.

“Oh, god,” he whispered. “How selfish can you get? At least there’s a chance Carole’s still alive …”

“They’ll still have their memories of each other,” suggested Koenig. Carter nodded.

“Yeah, Commander. Memories. Never could see the use of them myself …”

There was an agonised silence.

“Try to get some sleep, Alan,” said Koenig, abruptly, turning to walk from the room. “I’ll see you’re woken in good time …”

Carter’s eyes never once shifted from his contemplation of the view from the balcony.

“Sure, Commander,” he replied, automatically. He frowned, his head swivelling to regard his fellow Alphan.

“Uh, thanks, Commander,” he called. “I … goodnight. See you before sunrise.”

He listened as Koenig’s footsteps echoed into the darkness, then glanced out at the city once more.

“She’s alive,” he whispered. “For all our sakes, she’s alive …”

* * *

“Alan. Alan? Wake up, it’s almost sunrise …”

He blinked his eyes open, focussing with an effort onto Helena’s cowled face.

“Uh, sure,” he mumbled, suddenly realising where and who he was. “Yes, Helena. What time is it?”

“About half an hour before daybreak,” she replied, as he climbed stiffly from his somewhat precarious perch on the balcony wall.

“Have you been sitting here all night?” she demanded, as he stretched the kinks from his spine.

“I guess so,” he said, rubbing the pins-and-needles from his left arm.

“Do you want some breakfast?” she asked. “There’s fruit and wine downstairs …”

“I couldn’t face anything,” he said. “Where’s the Commander?”

“Back at the carts with Biorn,” she replied.

He smiled, ruefully.

“Thanks, Helena,” he said. “Ah, I know about Tony and Etak.”

“Yes,” she said, avoiding his eyes. “He’s more worried about her disappointment than his loss …”

“Does Skorr know?”

She frowned.

“Her old boyfriend?” she said. “You mean, she might return to him?”

“If she understands why Tony can’t stay it could be her only hope …”

Helena nodded.

“I see what you’re getting at,” she said. “But Alan, it’s two people’s lives we’re talking about …”

“Helena, Alan.”

They turned at the voice, seeing Elnhe, leaning breathlessly against the doorpost.

“We go to ceremony,” she announced. “Biorn ready …”

“About time, too,” rumbled Carter, sweeping past Helena towards the door. He paused on the threshold, looking back at her.

“Let me talk to Tony,” he said. “We’ll work something out …”

She nodded.

“Okay, Alan,” she called. “Anything you think can help.”

“Come on,” he said. “We can only worry about one girl at a time. Tony would understand.”

She offered him a thin smile of thanks.

“Yes, Alan,” she replied. “Tony _does_ understand …”


	23. Chapter 23

Siva studied her image in the mirror, her lips, glossed with scarlet lipstick, forming a thing smile, one elegantly arched eyebrow lifting at its outer tip.

Sacrifice. The single, awesome concept tripped through her mind. Her smiled deepened. Tonight she was feeling cruel, and, she decided, it was at times like these that she appeared at her most beautiful.

She stood and walked from the makeup table, shrugged relaxing gown from her darkly-tanned shoulders. A maidservant scurried nervously out of her path as she advanced upon the doorway to the chamber that housed the rest of her somewhat considerable collection of clothing.

“Ah, white,” she murmured, running her fingers through the hooded gown she was to wear at the morrow’s ceremony. She glanced at the green-swathed maidservant hovering beside her.

“Such a fine, clean colour, don’t you think?” she said, with an air suggesting that an answer was the last thing she expected.

“Yes, oh Siva,” replied the maidservant, timidly. “It compliments the colour of your hair and skin so …”

Siva glanced at her.

“Not,” she continued hurriedly, “that your beauty requires such trickery …”

The priestess uttered a disdainful sniff.

“Enough,” she snapped. “Help me with the gown.”

She stood, like a beautiful and impossibly proud mannequin, as her servants fussed about her, aiming an experimental frown of disgust into a hand mirror held before her, prodding at her casual hairstyle with a pair of long, bony fingers.

“The priestess is looking singularly beautiful tonight …” suggested a servant. Siva allowed herself a self-indulgent smile, suddenly scowling at the unfortunate girl.

“You say that every night,” she accused.

“Ah …” faltered the servant, “because it is true, my mistress …”

The scowl collapsed to a sneer.

“Time grows short,” she decided, freeing the cowl from beneath her hair and lifting it onto the top of her head. “Are the offerings ready?”

“Yes, oh priestess,” replied a fair-haired maidservant, nervously. Siva glanced as her. She was younger than most, and prettier. The older woman cupped the girl beneath the chin, lifting her head to look into her eyes.

“You are new here?” she demanded, softly. “I have not seen you before.”

The girl nodded.

“I joined the staff here only two days ago,” she said. “This is my first night of duty in your service.”

Siva smiled, nodding thoughtfully.

“Remind me to instruct you further in your duties here,” she said.

“Duties?” responded the girl, uncertainly.

“Yes, my dear,” replied Siva. “Those duties that are of a pleasanter, more intimate nature.”

“Whatever my mistress commands,” said the servant, nodding.

Siva turned, removing her hand from the youngster’s cheek with a lover’s caress.

“The priests await us,” she called. “Let us bring them their offerings, for the love of Astra …”

* * *

Kemargien’s head tilted back at the sound of the bolts withdrawing from his cage door, looking up into the shadows beneath the trooper’s faceguard.

“It is time, oh priest,” he said, simply.

Kemargien leaned back against the cold, damp wall behind him.

“I am no longer a priest,” he replied, stubbornly. “And you have your timing wrong. The great ceremony is not due for another day, yet.”

“Astra’s demands to our new priest are different,” informed the guard, glancing back at the trio of troopers haloed by the torchlight from the doorway above.

“Evestregen is insane,” said Kemargien. “He no more hears the words of Astra than I did. Tell him to read and interpret the shadows on the floor of the solstice chamber, that is the only way that Astra communicates with his people …”

“That is the only way that Astra communicated with his last priest,” called a new voice.

Kemargien looked past the trooper, seeing the black-cloaked figure on the stairway descending onto their midst.

“Evestregen,” he growled, closing his eyes tiredly.

“I hear the lord Astra’ words as clearly as you hear mine now, Kemargien,” he said, standing beside the senior guard. “He demands that we make good the errors and incompetence of the priesthood under your administration.”

“If that is what you think, then you’re mad.”

Evestregen was unconcerned.

“Astra himself requested that I replace you,” he said, loftily.

“Then Astra is mad,” decided Kemargien, emphatically.

Evestregen aimed a significant glance at the trooper, then looked towards his erstwhile superior.

“For one who chooses to judge the sanity of his colleagues, Kemargien, you exhibit an appalling lack of wisdom.”

Kemargien glared at the high priest.

“Wisdom?” he snapped. “For a man who is supposedly the receiver of the voice of Astra, to order such butchery while he still claims his rights over the lawfully elected high priest of our people, and then questions the wisdom of that man, you have the gall to proclaim your blasphemous preachings to all who listen ..?”

“You will be silent, Kemargien!” yelled Evestregen. “You condemn yourself with every word you utter. Yours is the blasphemy, and yours alone.”

He nodded at the bodyguard.

“Take him, trooper,” he commanded. “We shall give him to Astra, as he gave before his insanity poisoned his mind against our lord.”

He stood back as the three back warriors advanced on their prisoner.

“Pray, Kemargien,” he demanded. “Prey as you walk to your death that the punishment exacted for your sins will be merciful. And pray to Astra as you die that your people will be saved …”

* * *

Koenig’s hand strayed to his belt, reassuring himself for what must have been the thousandth time that the laser was still in its clip. He glanced to his left, seeing Carter, and, beyond him, Verdeschi, each immersed in their own thoughts, studying the crowd that milled about them.

Koenig was suddenly thankful for the cloak, on several counts. One, it concealed the commlock and laser on his belt, and the shortsword clutched uncertainly in his left hand. Two, it proved and admirable method of combating the icy wind that cut across the square, and last, but by no means least, three, it shrouded him in a mantle of anonymity, allowing him to blend unnoticed into the uncaring mob of people that thronged the streets.

“Commander?”

Carter’s voice, a hoarse, expectant whisper. Koenig looked towards the pilot, seeing him peer with narrowed eyes across the square.

“What is it, Alan?” he called.

“Something's happening, Commander. Lights, opposite the pyramids.”

Koenig scanned the buildings indicated by Carter. At first he saw nothing, then, as the red half-glow of the false dawn burned brighter in the eastern sky, he saw the shine of gold on black, and the orange flare of guttering torches.

“Priests,” confirmed Verdeschi. “They’re here, Commander.”

Koneig nodded. Aiming a glance at Biorn, he lifted his commlock to his lips.

“Helena?”

Her face appeared on the viewscreen as, by the carts beyond the pyramids, she responded to his call.

“Yes, John?”

“It’s started, Helena,” he reported. “Stand by with the carts.”

“We’ll be ready, John,” she promised. “Any sign of Carole?”

He shook his head.

“Negative,” he replied. “But …”

“Commander?”

“With you, Alan. Hold on, Helena, something’s happening.”

He looked along the pilot’s outstretched finger, seeing the group of females.

“The sacrificial offerings, Commander,” said Carter. “See the tall one at the front?”

“Yeas. With the hood over her head?”

“That’s Siva,” informed the pilot. “Nastiest piece of work I’ve seen in a long time, and that includes Astra.”

Koenig nodded.

“Tony?” he called.

“Yes, Commander?” he replied.

“Ready with the laser?”

“Any time you like, Commander. Telemetry checks out. She’s raring to go …”

“Okay, Tony,” murmured Koenig, quietly. “All in good time. Alan, d’you see Carole?”

Carter shook his head.

“No, Commander. I recognise a couple of the sacrifice victims, though.”

He nodded towards the females.

“See the two bare-headed ones in the white gowns?” he said.

“Yes,” confirmed Koenig.

“The little on is Corla, the other’s Cyann. They wanted to help us when Carole and I tried to escape the priests.”

Koenig frowned.

“Looks like they’re being punished for that,” he suggested.

“Yeah, Commander,” replied Carter. “We must try to help them. We can’t let this lot butcher them like cattle …”

“What if anything happens before Carole appears?”

“If she appears, Commander …”

Koenig glanced at Carter.

“Even if trying to save them puts her at risk?” he said.

Carter looked towards him, an agonised look on his face.

“I know what I want, Commander,” he said, “but we can’t just stand by …”

“Alan, Commander,” called Verdeschi. “Look, more guards …”

“Hell, that’s all we need,” growled Koenig, studying the group of troopers that had emerged from the blockhouse construct beyond the pyramids.

“Another offering,” hiss Verdeschi. “Like Ebron …”

“My god,” whispered Koenig. “It’s the other priest …”

“Kemargien,” confirmed Biorn, “high priest of Astra.”

He glanced at Koenig.

“Once, Commander,” he added, darkly.

The Alphan nodded, turning to watch the two groups approach the central pyramid.

By the time Evestregen reached the summit of the sacrificial tower, the smile that played across his lips was one of total triumph. He turned, facing the ascending females, to see Siva pause before him.

“The trappings of a high priest suit you, my lord Evestregen,” she observed. He acknowledged her comment with a token bow, his smile widening as a gust of wind molded her silken gown to the front of her body.

“Indeed, mistress Siva,” he replied. “But I am unable to compete with your most beautiful self on this or any other day.”

She nodded, a thoughtful expression on her face as she stood beside him. _This man was devious,_ she thought. _Almost, perhaps, as devious as she. Their alliance may prove to be a most interesting one …_

“This display of mutual admiration between two people such as ourselves is most unusual,” he said, suddenly, watching Kemargien, bruised and bloodstained, still clad in the remains of his priestly garb, climb the tower towards them.

“Merely because we are priest and priestess doesn’t mean we are forbidden to extend compliments to each other,” she commented, glancing at him.

His head turned to regard her.

“I agree,” he affirmed. “In fact, it is my intention not only to compliment you whenever compliment is due, but to ensure that our contact, both official and social, be developed more fully in the days to come …”

She looked sideways at him, a puzzled frown on her face.

“Official and social contact?” she repeated.

“The idea does not appeal to you?”

“No, oh Evestregen,” she replied, “on the contrary, the idea does appeal. There may be much we can learn from each other …”

_And who knows,_ she decided, _perhaps the time may soon be ripe for this civilisation to see its first woman High Lord of Astra ..?_

“I might have known your plotting was at the bottom of this, woman!”

She turned, seeing Kemargien, anger lighting his eyes, standing below her.

“I shall consider your suggestions, my lord,” she said, looking towards Evestregen. “After,” she added, coldly, “we have dealt with this blasphemy.”

She crossed before the priest and, glancing towards the eastern horizon, rounded the sacrificial stone to stand at its head.

Kemargien’s eyes narrowed.

“Is this the depth to which our religion has descended?” he demanded. “When the mistress of the house of the blessed offerings presides over the sacrifice of the very people she has promised to protect?”

“It is my right to attend these ceremonies,” she demanded. “It should also be my right to perform them in the worship of my god …”

“And become a monster within your palace,” he challenged. “Carrying the blood of your people on your hands. A creature, a tyrant …”

“That will be enough, Kemargien,” she hissed.

“I shall have my say, woman, he called, defiantly. “You, and this thing that is less than a man, hae made a mockery of all we hold dear. It is you, not I, that are the blasphemy, using this temple and the peoples’, my peoples’ religion to your own, avaricious ends …”

“You will be silent, Kemargien,” demanded Evestregen, standing forward, his right hand hovering threateningly over the swordhilt at his side.

“No, oh priest, I shall not,” whispered Kemargien. “The people have a right to know. To be told that you won your cloak and helm by trickery and conspiracy.”

Kemargien turned, lifting his arms the embrace the uncertain crowd.

“Men and women of this city,” he called. “My people, listen to me …”

“I told you, Kemargien, that will be enough!”

Evestregen’s sword hissed from its scabbard, slicing through the air towards the other man’s unarmoured beck.

“My lord Evestregen, no!” yelled a trooper, behind him. “The sacrifice, it is not yet time …”

Too late, Kemargien saw the falling blade. He dropped as it scythed past him, slamming into the side of his skull. In the midst of an agonised gasp of anger from the assembled crowd, the man went down, sprawling awkwardly across the top of the tower.

Evestregen backed off, horrified at seeing the man’s blood on his sword.

“I killed him …” he faltered. “I took his life …”

“Don’t be such and idiot,” snapped Siva, pointing to Kemargien. “He took a glancing blow. He is stunned, no more.”

Kemargien rolled painfully onto his back, feeling the stream of blood that poured from his right temple drain warmly down his cheek. He wiped its salt sting from his eye with the back of his hand, to stare balefully at the other priest.

“See the blasphemy you have brought upon yourself,” he warned, pushing himself to his feet.

“See, my people,” he called, aiming an accusing finger at Evestregen. “See how he abandons the sacrificial knife, seeking instead a solution with the sword and the weapons of war …”

“Christ,” muttered Carter. “Now he’s really gone and done it …”

“Ready, my people,” hissed Biorn.

“Any second now, Tony,” warned Koenig.

Kemargien pulled himself stiffly to his full height.

“To me, my people,” he yelled. “For the love of Astra, destroy those creatures who have destroyed us …”

“NO!” screamed Evestregen. “I WILL NOT ALLOW ..!”

The sword lifted again, poised to deliver the killing stroke …

Almost as one man, the crowd, fired by their former high-priest’s words, surged forward, every last one of them prepared to give his – or her – life for the man they had grown to trust.

**“PEOPLE OF ASTRA, HEAR MY WORDS ..!”**

Koenig, aiming over the top of his laser at the tyrant priest, froze as he saw the orange ball of fire blossom above the altar stone.

“Astra,” hissed Carter, his hand closing firmly over the handgrip of his axe.

“With me,” called Biorn, throwing his cloak from his shoulders, standing forward to club aside the temple guard standing before him.

“Biorn,” began Carter, urgently. “Wait. Carole …”

Evestregen, frozen in mid-strike as he saw the gout of flame shimmer before him, heard again the voice of his god echo across the square.

**“PEOPLE! WITNESS MY GIFT TO YOUR CEREMONY. LET THE BLASPHEMERS SEE THE FUTILITY OF THEIR CAUSE …”**

A terrified hush settled over the crowd, as, with the rumble of thunder, the pillar of flame grew, swirling scarlet and yellow as it clawed into the sky above the pyramid.

There was an electrical crack, a splas of golden fire and, with the nuclear rumble of matter annihilating in a hyper-space field, a slim, white figure wavered into solidity.

“Carole,” whispered Carter, slapping the axe into his left hand. “Carole!” he yelled, running past Biorn and Skorr into the square.

Evestregen’s eyes widened as he saw her.

“The sacrifice,” he breathed. “The promised one …”

Koenig saw him lift the sacrificial knife even as Carter ran desperately forward.

“Carole” Get the hell out of there ..!”

Her mouth opened in a silent scream as the curve of steel glittered through the air.

But suddenly, inexplicably, even as the knife arced towards her, a blue-green halo of laser light shimmered about the priest, spinning him round. The knife, dashed from his paralysed fingers, skittered across the stonework, coming to rest at Siva’s feet.

“Carole! Get out of there, for Chrissake …”

“Guards!” yelled the priestess, hefting the knife. “The barbarian blasphemers are among us! Destroy them, defend the lord Astra …”

An arrow, whistling past her to bury itself firmly in the chest of a black-armoured trooper, dragged Carole violently back to the reality of the moment. A white-gowned girl behind her screamed as another trooper collapsed across the altar stone, clawing vainly at the feather-tipped shaft that had sprouted so unexpectedly from his shoulder.

“Carole …”

She blinked, suddenly recognising the voice that had called her name.

“Alan ..?”

She stood forward, her heart beating crazily as the realisation dawned on her that he was still alive …

Kemargien stared at her, unable to comprehend the events that he was witness to.

“Barbarian …” he croaked, reaching uncertainly for her, “Woman of the man of Astra …”

Carole screamed, recoiling in horror as his bloodstained hands clawed towards her.

“Leave her alone!” yelled Carter, swinging the axe upwards, releasing it to spin end over end, impacting against the priest’s back with a stomach-churning thud.

The dying priest slammed into the altar, collapsing at the terrified Alphan’s feet, arterial blood pumping ominously from the corners of his mouth.

“Alan!” she cried, running towards him, blind to all about her but his outstretched arms.

“Now!” shouted Koenig, seeing her clear the glowing mantle that ringed the alien flame. With an almost fatal calm, he thumbed the chromed stud on the side of his commlock.

Almost simultaneously, three distinct and apparently unconnected events occurred; a mountain peak, many miles distant, glowed red and exploded; the flame of Astra boiled angrily for a second …

And the fighting stopped.

Everyone, soldiers, preists and barbarians alike, turned to gaze in wonder and terror at the mushroom-cloud of fire that boiled into the air above the mountain.

Only Carter, and the girl he had believed to be dead, seemed oblivious to the man-made volcano on the horizon. Throwing herself into his arms, she clung to him as if her very soul depended on it, unashamed tears of joy streaming down her face. He pulled his cloak from his back, draping it about her shoulders as, regaining their rudely scattered wits, Biorn’s people began to form a defensive cordon about them, anticipating an attack from the priest’s bodyguards.

Their vigilance was not to go unrewarded for long. Siva, the sacrificial knife still clutched in her right hand, and seeing the flame of Astra still burning brightly, called desperately to the temple guards.

“Stop them, you idiots! The sacrifice escapes…”

“Get the hell out of here, Carole,” urged Carter, backing warily down the pyramid, keeping a respectful eye on the soldiers above him.

“Not without you,” she whispered. “Not this time …”

“Don’t worry, Kitten,” he promised, “I’ll be right behind you …”

He was at once conscious of Verdeschi at his side.

“We did it, Alan,” he called. “Let’s get out of here …”

“Commander?” began Carter.

“Here, Alan,” replied Koenig. “Good to have you back, Carole,” he affirmed.

Before she could reply, a dark shape bounded up through the barbarian group, a glint of steel held menacingly before her.

“Etak!” shouted Verdeschi,” recognising her. “No! Come back …”

Siva spun as the native girl appeared before her.

“Siva!” she challenged. “I warned you that I would remember your name. It is time that I claimed my vengeance.”

She threw aside her sword, ignoring it as it clattered across the stonework, her right hand removing the dagger from her forearm clip.

“Pray to your god, priestess,” she commanded. “Your meeting with him is long overdue …”

Koenig lifted the laser, meaing to down Siva before either of the females could hurt each other. The warning click of a circuit breaker relaxing told him, even before he pressed the firing trigger, that the weapon was empty.

Siva back away as Etak advanced. Verdeschi started forward, but a hand on his shoulder held him back. He looked sideways, seeing Skorr, face dark with a concerned frown.

“No,Tony,” he demanded. “Leave her. Etak’s fight. Kamf di Etak, nur Etak …”

Verdeschi had begun to shake his head, turning the shrug his shoulder from beneath Skorr’s hand when, in an awesome crash of energy, Astra made his first, and only appearance before his people.

The alien, enveloped in flame, staggered from the portal, his black gown smouldering, trailing wisps of grey smoke about him in the cool morning air.

Evestregen’s eyes widened as he contemplated the terrible, featureless skull.

“Astra?” he faltered.

“I burn …” moaned the alien, limping forward. “Help me, my people …”

Koenig stood forward, snatching the commlock from his belt, lifting it to throw into the face of the unholy creature.

“My lord Astra,” called Evestregen, “forgive me …”

With a strangled gasp, his voice ceased as Astra’s right fist slammed into his throat, tipping him from the top of the tower. Koenig threw the commlock as the doomed priest tumbled down the great stairway.

The commlock smashed into the front of the scarlet dome, exploding as its video-screen shattered. Astra dies as the dome disintegrated, filling the air with plumes of red smoke, Etak screaming as the lifeless mechanical carcass tumbled from the altar.

Siva watched the metal and plastic corpse, seeing it burst into flame as its ruined circuitry overloaded.

“Murderers! She accused, swing the sacrificial knife at Etak. “Die as Evestregen died …”

Etak saw the knife a fraction of a second too late. There was a hollow thud, the blade plunging deep into her left side. With a tiny gaps of surprise, she collapsed, her dagger spinning from her nerveless fingers as Siva sagged against the altar stone.

“Etak!” yelled Versdechi, fighting to get near to her.

“Tony, stay back,” ordered Koenig. “Skorr, go to her …”

“But, Commander …” began Verdesch, angrily.

“Get Alan and Carole back to the carts,” snapped Koenig, glancing at the native as he knelt beside the wounded female.

“Commander …”

Koenig’s eyes blazed. 

“That’s an order, mister,” he growled. “Get Carole away from here, and warn Helena to be ready for emergency surgery when we get back to Biorn’s camp.”

“I …” began Verdeschi, seeing the fire in the other man’s face. “Okay, Commander,” he said, reluctantly, looking back towards Skorr, and the unconscious girl at his feet.

Carter exchanged significant glances with Koenig, realising in an instant what his colleague was trying to do.

“Okay, Tony,” he called. “Let’s move. Skorr can take care of Etak.”

Verdeschi nodded, turning to follow the pilot down the side of the pyramid.

“With you, Alan,” he said, aiming a final glance at the crippled figure above him. “Hang on, Etak,” he breathed. “For god’s sake, hang on …”

Siva stared at the bloodstained knife, hypnotised by the splashes of crimson that stained the virgin whiteness of her gown.

“I killed her,” she whispered, glancing at the ashen-faced body before her, watching as Skorr wrapper her tenderly in his cloak. “By the love of Astra, I killed her …”

She dragged herself to her feet, waving the knife above her head like some gory trophy of war, the glow of insanity in her eyes.

“Astra!” she screamed. “Beloved lord of your most worshipful people, witness the devotion of this, your faithful servant ..!”

Her gaze lit upon Skorr, fighting desperately to staunch the flow of blood from Etak’s side.

“Sacrifices!” she yelled. “Let Astra’s demands be fulfilled …”

Skorr fell defensively across Etak, reaching vainly for his sword as Siva lunged towards him.

“By the sun and stars, NO!”

Powerless to intervene, Koenig and Biorn watched helplessly as a new figure joined the life-and-death struggle about the altar. He barrelled into Siva, pushing her against the great, heart-shaped stone, his hands closing irresistibly about her neck.

“Theirs is the right to love,” he hissed, feeling her trachea collapse beneath his fingers, hearing the rattle of death in her throat.

“Skorr!” bellowed Biorn, leading Koenig and the others up the side of the tower. “Stop him…”

“I cannot leave Etak,” he warned. “Her wound is deep. I cannot stop the flow of blood …”

Koenig reached the summit of the pyramid as Kemargien, his final duty discharged, released Siva’s body, letting it collapse, like a limp rag doll, across the altar stone. He slumped, painfully, beside her, looking absently into the Alphan’s horrified face.

“Astra has his sacrifice,” he said, hoarsely. “Siva’s life for the life of the girl. Take her, barbarian, and leave my people in peace.”

He glanced into the dawn of the new day, seeing the sun rise as it had always done to drive the cold of the night from the city.

“The will of Astra has been honoured,” he whispered. “The promise fulfilled. It is done …”


	24. Chapter 24

“Stay close, Carole,” called Carter, pulling the commlock from his belt. “Tony, check that street.”

He leaned, tiredly, against the corner of the building, jabbing angrily at the array of black studs on the front of the commlock. Carole glanced anxiously at him as Verdeschi ran on to the intersection ahead.

“Alan,” she said, breathlessly, “are you all right?”

“Never felt better, Kitten,” he assured, hoarsely, aiming a confident grin at her. He lifted the grey box before his face as Helena appeared on its viewscreen.

“Alan,” she said, thankfully. “We saw the mountain. Is everyone all right ...?”

“Be ready for emergency surgery, Helena,” he interrupted. “Chest wound, left side, between third and fourth ribs, I’d say. Knife cut, and it looks deep …”

“Surgery?” she gasped. “Who’s hurt? Carole ..?”

“Carole’s okay,” he replied. “We got her out …”

“Then who?”

“Helena, it’s Etak. A priestess stuck a knife in her.”

The eyes in the face upon the viewscreen widened in horror.

“Oh, my god,” she whispered. “Tony ..?”

“He’s here with me,” replied Carter. “Skorr’s back with her on the pyramid …”

“I’ll be right there …” she began.

“Negative, Helena,” he snapped. “The Commander’s moving her out to the carts. Just you be ready for them.”

“Will do, Alan. Is Carole there?”

He nodded.

“D’you want to speak to her?” he demanded.

“Yes, Alan.”

Carter handed the commlock to Carole.

“Yes, doctor?” she said.

Helena allowed herself the luxury of a smile.

“How are you, Carole?”

“I’ll be okay, doctor,” she replied. “Just a few bruises, nothing more …”

“Feel up to assisting? I need a good anaesthetist.”

Carole’s jaw set.

“You got one, doctor,” she promised. Helena nodded.

“Good girl,” she breathed. “Get back here and we’ll set up a transfusion kit. We can pre-op. on the way back to camp. And, Alan?”

“Here, Helena.”

“You can tell Tony if we don’t pull Etak through I’ll quit medicine for good.”

He nodded, grimly.

“Will do, Helena,” he said. “Carter out.”

He looked along the street as the screen dimmed, seeing Verdeschi, a native he recognised as Slar beside him, edging warily around the corner of the intersection. The Alphan turned to regard them.

“All clear,” he called, stepping out into the street. “Let’s get moving, Alan.”

“Follow the man ,” he muttered, glancing at Carole. She frowned.

“What ..?” she began.

“Old joke,” he replied. Pushing away from the wall and, clipping the commlock to his belt, he started after his colleague. They ran through strangely deserted streets, reaching their carts without incident, Carter indicating Helena’s with a nod of his head.

“Get busy, Kitten,” he instructed. “We’ll keep an eye open for the others.”

She climbed over the cart’s tailgate, then turned to glance at him.

“Time to earn my keep?” she said.

He smiled.

“You won’t ever have to earn your keep in this man’s army,” he informed her, “but we’re gonna have a mighty sick girl on our hands in a couple of minutes. Just you be ready for her.”

“Thank you, Alan.”

The smile deepened.

“Thank you, Carole.”

He turned, walking to the end of the street, where Verdeschi awaited Koenig and the wounded Etak with sorrow in his heart. Carole watched him for a moment, imagining that she could feel the grief boiling within him …

“Carole ..?”

She jumped, turning to see Helena, a confusion of medical equipment about her, kneeling in the front of the cart.

“Uh, I’m sorry, doctor,” she began. “I …”

Helena nodded.

“All right, Carole,” she said. “I understand. Everything’s under control, anyway.”

She pulled a medikit closer to her, opening its top to rummage about in it for more instruments.

“Think you can cope with a cardiovascular monitor?” she asked, spraying a mist of disinfectant about the other end of the cart.

Carole nodded.

“Good,” continued Helena, coolly. “There’s not much we can do here but start an IV and try to close up the wound. There’s D-10/W solution and a couple of litres of lactate …”

She looked into the other girl’s eyes.

“Carole, are you all right?”

“Uh, yes,” she replied. “But what’s going to happen to Tony if she dies …”

Helena frowned.

“She’s not going to die, Carole,” she said, sternly. “Not if I can help it, anyway. Now, look. You’re not going to psyche out on me like you did when we found Alan after the ‘Thirteen explosion are you? Because if you are, I can …”

An angry glint appeared in the youngster’s eyes.

“No, doctor, I’m not,” she returned, defiantly.

Helena nodded.

“No,” she said, thoughtfully. “I don’t think you are.” She smiled. “Okay, Carole. You’ll do. Pass me that IV kit, will you …”

“Helena!”

Verdeschi’s voice sounded from the courtyard beyond the opening at the back of the cart.

“They’re here …”

“Gently,” warned Helena, standing and climbing to the rear of the cart. She stood aside, watching Koenig, Skorr and Biorn lift the comatose form of the stricken girl onto the vehicle.

“Back off,” she demanded, unwrapping the bloodstained cloak as Carole tore the seals from the transfusion kit. She winced as she saw the wound, reaching for the hypo dispenser in the top of the medikit as Carole palpitated a vein in Etak’s left forearm.

“Ringer’s Lactate,” she said, simply, firing a clip of Novacetamol into the front of the girl’s right shoulder. “As fast as it’ll go. John?”

“Right here, Helena,” he called.

“Tell Biorn to get us out of here,” she instructed. “The sooner I can set up a decent exploratory, the better her chances of survival are going to be …”

“Does she have a chance?” demanded another voice.

She glanced towards the cart’s tailgate. Verdeschi, an agonised look in his eyes, watched her as she fought to keep the girl alive.

The expression on her face told him all he needed to know.

“I …” he faltered. “For god’s sake, Helena, do the best you can …”

“You got it, Tony,” she promised softly …

* * *

The car rocked to a halt before Helena’s hospital tent. Verdeschi was waiting for them, watching anxiously as she supervised the removal of Etak to what was to become her operating theatre.

“Carole,” called Helena, massaging the ache from the front of her shoulder. “Five units of Isopateranol, and cut the rest of that clothing away.”

“Helena …”

She looked up from the medikit, seeing Verdeschi hovering over her.

“How is she?”

“She’s a hole in her side, a hundred and seventy millimetres long and about half that deep,” she replied. “She’s lost enough blood to float an Eagle on, most of it into her left lung, and if I don’t get back to her pretty soon, she’s going to lose a lot more. Here,” she added, slapping an aerosol can into his right hand. “Spray this onto my hands and forearms …”

He did as she asked, saying: “Will she live?”

She managed a thin smile.

“Ask me in three hours’ time,” she said. “But I can tell you this for nothing. Her chances are a hundred percent better now than when I first saw her.”

He nodded.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“No …” she began. “Wait a minute,” she continued, “we need more transfusion solutions. D-10/W and stabilised lactate …”

“From the Eagle?”

“Yes …”

“I’m on my way …” he began.

“Tony,” she called. “Take Skorr with you.”

He frowned.

“Skorr? But …”

“He knows the country,” she interrupted. “And,” she added, quietly, “he’s as concerned about Etak as you are …”

A flash of understanding lit his face.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Of course.”

He looked towards the hospital tent.

“Okay, Helena,” he said. “Take care of her. I’ll be right back …”

“Do we really need all those solutions?” called a voice, softly, as she watched him cross the compound. She turned, seeing Carole, a puzzled frown on her face.

“No,” she said, leading her into the tent. “But I have to give them something to do …”

“Is that all?”

Helena glanced at the youngster.

“What d’you mean?”

“The Commander wouldn’t let him go to her when she was hurt,” she replied. “Now you’re sending him away on some wild goose chase …”

“He’d only be in the way if he stayed …” she challenged.

Carole looked away, busying herself with a packet of instruments.

“Yes, you’re right,” admitted Helena. “Come on, let’s deal with this first. I’ll explain everything later.”

Carole nodded at the lightly-breathing form on the table between them.

“Is she going to be all right?” she said, draping a sheet across her.

Helena pressed a probe into the cut, frowning at the reader plate in its top.

“I don’t know, Carole,” she confessed. “But I’m not giving up without a damm’ good fight …”

* * *

Verdeschi turned the last of the bags of solution over in his hands, ensuring that it was as sound as it had first looked. With a grunt of satisfaction, he knelt and packed it into its carrying box. He closed the lid and locked the catches, then stared, thoughtfully, at the box, the fingers of his left hand lifting to rub at the stubble on his chin. To his untutored eye there appeared to be enough IV solution to perform major surgery on most of the camp, but perhaps Helena knew what she was talking about.

He glanced towards the aft end of the cabin, seeing the beams of sunlight that slanted through the open hatch. _Sunlight,_ he thought. _Warm and bright. Real light, brimming with honest-to-goodness ultra-violet and all the high-energy cosmic rays a space-weary astronaut could want …_

Skorr’s head poked through the rectangular portal in the side of the pod.

“”Tony?” he called. “Parata? Es spaat …”

“Yo, Skorr,” he replied. “I’m ready.”

He hefted the case of solution packs and stood to walk down the gently-sloping floor. He paused in the hatchway, seeing Skorr peering intently into the undergrowth about them, ever watchful for hostile animal life.

Verdeschi suddenly realised how desperate he was to talk to the other man. To explain his true feelings towards the girl who, at this very moment, may be breathing her last in the hopelessly inadequate hospital tent back in Biorn’s camp.

“Uh, Skorr …” he began, uncertainly.

The native turned, his eyes meeting Verdeschi’s.

“Yo, Tony?” he said, evenly.

The Alphan froze, every noble word that had tumbled through his mind since the time of Etak’s wounding dissolving in an instant.

Reluctantly, he shook his head.

“No,” he said, tiredly. “Nothing. It’s all right. Forget about it …”

Skorr frowned.

“Let’s get back to camp,” said Verdeschi, suddenly, desperate to change the subject. “Sumo veh kaster di Biorn …”

“Yo, Tony,” said Skorr, uncertainly. “Back, uh, see Etak …”

“Yes,” nodded Verdeschi, dropping from the hatchway. “And hope to high heaven she’s still alive …”

He stood for a moment before the wrecked spacecraft, watching as the native ploughed into the undergrowth that surrounded the clearing.

_How,_ he wondered, _do I tell him to take his girl back if I don’t even know that she’s going to be alive when we get back to her again ..?_

* * *

Carter watched the pebble he’d thrown arc high into the air, to fall almost vertically into the crystal-clear water of the rock-pool. He leaned wearily back against the tree trunk, staring absently at the slowly spreading ripples that disturbed the mirrored surface of the water.

“Alan?”

He looked sideways, seeing Koenig descending the grassed bank towards him.

“No,” he said hurriedly, “don’t get up.” His face cracked into a thin smile. “I may be the chief back on Alpha, but round here I don’t have all that much to command.”

Carter glanced at him.

“Any news of Etak ..?” he began.

Koenig shook his head.

“Nothing,” he replied. “Helena’s been working on her for hours now …”

Carter lifted his commlock and peered into the viewscreen.

“Two hours, thirty-three minutes, thirty seconds,” he said, simply.

Koenig smiled.

“Whatever you say,” he noted. “At least this is a case of no news being good news. If Etak dies, that’s it. We’ve no total-life support gear we can use if anything does go wrong …”

Carter nodded.

“I forget how beautiful all this could be,” he said, looking back towards the pool. “We had a place like this on the ranch back home …”

“Commander ..?”

They both turned, facing the owner of the other voice.

Carter clawed to his feet as he recognised her.

“Carole? What is it? How’s Etak ..?”

She glanced at Koenig.

“Helena want’s to see you, Commander,” she said, voice heavy with fatigue.

“I’m on my way,” growled Koenig. “What about Etak?”

“Helena wanted to tell you herself …”

He nodded, climbing the bank at a run. He paused, looking into her face.

“You’re worn out,” he noted. “You all right?”

She managed a meager smile.

“I had a job to do, Commander,” she replied. “There’ll be plenty of time to rest later …”

Koenig glanced at Carter, then smiled at her.

“Good girl,” he said, softly. “Your family would be proud of you …”

“My …?” she began, looking towards him.

By the time she’d found an answer it was too late and Koenig was striding purposefully back to camp. She turned instead to Carter.

“Will Etak be all right?” he demanded, quietly.

“We closed the hole in her side,” she said, walking towards him. “Put a drain in her chest and started replacing the fluid she lost …”

“And?”

“Helena thinks she’s going to be all right.”

Carter exhaled with an audible sigh.

“Thank god,” he whispered. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Come here,” he said.

“What ..?”

“Come here,” he repeated, patting the mound of grass beside him. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”

She sat beside him, his arm winding unbidden about her waist.

“How’s your shoulder?” she asked.

He aimed a look at her.

“Can’t you forget you’re a nurse for just five minutes?” he said.

“I don’t intend to be a nurse all that much longer,” she warned.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that as soon as we get back to Alpha I’m going to start work on my surgeon’s ticket.”

“Surgeon?”

She pulled herself tighter against his chest, looking into his eyes.

“Alan,” she whispered, “you should have seen Helena just now. Etak was dying, right in front of us she’d given up. Nobody on this planet picks up a wound that deep and survives …”

“And Helena’s healing fingers put her back together again?”

“Alan,” she scolded. “I’m trying to be serious for a minute.”

“Sure, Kitten,” he murmured. “Of course you are.”

He patted her nose with the tip of his finger.

“I think you’d make a bloody good surgeon,” he decided.

“You could have chosen a more appropriate adjective,” she said. They both smiled. He looked, thoughtfully, into her face.

“Surgeon, eh?” he said. “How long would it take?”

“Well,” she replied, “I’m already a medic. With sleep-teach I could be a doctor in eighteen months, then add three years practical work …”

“Three years?”

She frowned at him. “You do not churn out pillars of the medical profession in a few weeks,” she retorted.

“And who puts me back together again if I get caught in a bad Eagle wreck?” he demanded.

“If that happened,” she replied, darkly, “I’d save all the interesting bits and flush the rest of you down the nearest recycle chute.”

His eyebrows lifted.

“Well,” he said, “If it’s just my interesting bits you’re after, why don’t you just say so. I’m sure we can work something out …”

She buried her head in his shoulder, stifling the laughter that bubbled through her. She sat up, wiping the tears of joy from her face.

“He remembered about my parents,” she said, suddenly.

“Who?”

“Commander Koenig,” she replied. “He said my parents would have been proud of me.”

Carter nodded.

“They wouldn’t have been the only ones, either,” he said, quietly.

She frowned.

“What d’you mean?”

“Don’t you see?” he said, softly. “All the trouble we went to and all the risks we took were for you. We care about you, Carole, all of us …”

Puzzlement lit her eyes.

“All because of me ..?” she whispered.

“You’re important, Carole,” he said. “To all of us, including Helena and the Commander.”

There was a breathless silence as she considered his words.

“Then I’m really not alone anymore,” she said, finally.

“Too right, Kitten,” he replied, kissing her cheek. “Here,” he added, taking something from his belt and pressing it into her hand.

“The mouse!” she gasped. “Oh, Alan, I didn’t think I’d ever see that again.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, pulling her tighter into his embrace. “Just don’t go losing it again, that’s all …”

* * *

Koenig stood in silence at the foot of Etak’s bed, watching her silent form for what seemed to be an age. Glancing towards the doctor, he spoke:  
“Well, Helena. What’s the verdict?”

“She’s not out of the woods yet, John,” she replied. “Not by a long way. But if she’s only a tenth the spirit I think she has then she’ll pull through.”

“You did a damned good job,” he observed, quietly.

She smiled.

“We all did, John.”

Slowly, Koenig nodded.

“You realise,” he said, “that we’ve just solved one problem and generated another …”

“What d’you mean?”

“Saving Etak’s life simply means that Tony still has the descision to make regarding their future …”

Helena aimed a thunderous look at Koenig.

“You’re not seriously suggesting that I should have let her _die?_ ” she demanded, angrily.

“Of course, not, Helena,” he replied. “You should know me better than that. But now we know she’s out of immediate danger we have to think about him …”

“Yes,” she said, thoughfully. “But don’t you realise it’s a decision only he can make ..?”

They both turned at the urgent rustle of the door-curtain being drawn aside, to see Verdeschi and Skorr push breathlessly into the room.

“Etak ..?” whispered the native, crossing the room to kneel beside her. Verdeschi glanced from her to Helena, his expression speaking for him.

“She’s going to be all right,” she promised, softly. “You should be able to talk to her in a couple of hours time …”

“Helena ..?” called Skorr, uncertainly, looking up at her.

“Etak ni un peresh,” answered Helena. “Es ni veh morta …”

Skoor sagged thankfully against the side of the bed, closing his eyes wearily.

“My … thanks to you, Helena,” he breathed. “Gratek do su.”

His eyes flickered open, fixing Verdeschi with a sincere look.

“Etak di su, Tony. Nu su …”

“No,” interrupted the Alphan, determinedly. “Etak ni di mu. She loves you, Skorr. Please, take her back. Give her the love I can’t give her, and all the children she and her father would want …”

Verdeschi’s words were strange to Skorr, yet he still understood them. He nodded, taking Etak’s left hand in his, squeezing it fondly and feeling the firm beat of her heart in her wrist.

“Yo, Tony,” he replied. “Vestend. Bona amice di Etak, e di Skorr.”

Verdeschi felt Helena’s hand on his shoulder. He glanced at her.

“I must talk to her,” he said. “I have to explain …”

“She’ll be unconscious for a while yet, Tony,” she warned.

“I know, Helena,” he said. “But …. Look, can I just sit with her ..?”

“I don’t know …” she began.

“Yo, Tony,” called Skorr. “Skorr does not mind. Skorr is … uh …” He glanced at Helena. “Skorr veh honeres ..?”

“He says he’d be honoured, Tony,” she translated.

Verdeschi nodded.

“Thank you, Skorr,” he said. “And I’ll be honoured to stay by her …”

* * *

Verdeschi must have been asleep, for he was suddenly aware of the touch of a warm, dry hand against his.

He blinked his eyes open, seeing Etak, a puzzled frown on her face, trying to sit up to look at him.

“No, Etak,” he called, standing over her. “Stay. Stay here. I’ll get Helena …”

“Kev eh cum Etak?” she whispered, hoarsely.

“You’ll be all right,” he said, crossing the bedroom to the doorway. “Helena!” he yelled. “Etak’s awake …”

He returned to her, sitting on the bed beside her. She frowned at the arm that had been strapped against her side, lifting the other to touch his cheek.

“Okay, Etak, I’m here, you’ll be all right now …”

Helena swept into the room, Skorr hard on her heels.

“How long has she been awake?” she demanded, peering into the girl’s left eye.

Etak shook her head, squirming out from beneath the doctor’s icy fingers.

“Kald!” she complained, seeing Skorr and smiling into his face.

“Couple of minutes,” replied Verdeschi, adding, sheepishly, “I was asleep.”

He looked towards the girl on the bed.

“Etak,” he said, softly. She turned to face him, her eyes blinking owlishly.

“Tony?” she began, in a weary voice.

“Etak, I must talk. Loquon. Cum su …”

“Yo, Tony, “ she replied. “Ke ..?”

“Circe se e mu.”

“Sumo?”

“Yo, Etak,” he said, glancing at Helena, seeking her reassurance.

“You’re doing fine,” she said, softly. He nodded, clearing his throat.

“Children,” he said, looking back to the injured girl. “Uh, infants. I … I can’t, that is, my people cannot have children with your people …”

“Sumo ni infantes?” she faltered.

“Yo, Etak. Sumo ni infants. Sumo … diversa. We’re too different …”

A tear trickled down her cheek.

“D’you understand?” he said. “Vestend?”

“Yes, Tony,” she whispered. “I understand …”

“I … I still love you, Etak,” he promised, quietly. “Tony dok aman Etak …”

“Yo, Tony,” she replied, glancing at Skorr. “Etak aman Tony. E Skorr …”

Verdeschi looked towards the native, then glanced at Helena.

“Can you explain to Etak for me?” he asked. He turned, his eyes meeting those of Skorr.

“Etak aman Skorr,” he said, nodding towards her. “Veh cum …”

He shook his head, then walked from the room, unable, or unwilling to hear Etak call to him.

Helena’s hand on her shoulder pushed her firmly back against the pillows. She sought out the older woman’s face, tears glistening in her eyes.

“Helena,” she called, “I understand, but … But I still love him. As I truly love Skorr …”

“Yes, Etak,” said Helena, slipping easily into the girl’s own tongue. “I know. Get some rest …”

“I must talk with him …”

Helena smiled.

“He’ll be back,” she promised. “Let him be alone with his thoughts, now. Try and get some sleep. I’ll see he visits you tomorrow.”

Etak nodded, looking warmly into Skorr’s eyes.

“Thank you, Helena,” she whispered. “For all you have done …”


	25. Chapter 25

Helena took a sip from the goblet of wine then, pausing only to release the ‘hold’ control of the memo-recorder, leaned it against the boulder beside her and spoke into it.

“Medical officer’s report, day fourty-seven, A.M. Patient, female, Etak still making admirable progress. Scar tissue clearing, still no sign of pulmonary tissue degradation or drug reaction. Blood pH is low, but presume to be norm for the patient, since she exhibits no other apparent ill-effects.”

She took another sip of the wine. It was good – sharp and refreshing, and would have compared favourably with anything produced by either the Rhine or Moselle vineyards. A pity, though, that it was the wrong colour. Green may be all right for grass and leaves, but wine ..?

She cleared her throat, remembering that, despite the wonderland that was her newest environment, she still had a job to do. She turned once more to the recorder.

“Medical duties now tailing off as we discharge more serious cases. Usual percentage of cuts and bruises still keeping Nurse Irwin and myself busy. Anticipated problems concerning non-replacement of supplies no longer relevant, since we are augmenting or replacing our own supplies with native preparations …”

She operated the ‘hold’ control once more. Pursing her lips in thought, she watched a group of sun-bronzed native children playing happily on an outcrop of rock above the glistening surface of the catchment pool.

Uttering a tiny sigh of contentment, she leaned back against the trunk of the tree that shaded her, savouring the sweetly-scented air that drifted warmly about her.

She looked sideways as an excited yell split the air. Elnhe, pursued by Ebron, Slar and a somewhat raggedly dressed troop of followers, pounded across the narrow strip of sand towards the water.

Helena smiled, seeing them play as the children played. This, she thought, was how a planet should be organised, like a vast and beautiful garden …

“I’d offer a penny for your thoughts, but nobody around here seems to use money.”

She started, seeing Koenig, a wide smile on his face, looking down from the bank above her. She recovered her composure with an effort.

“I wish you wouldn’t sneak up on me like that,” she admonished. “I was trying to get some work done …”

He picked up the recorder and sat on the boulder.

“Yes,” he observed. “That’s what I thought you were doing.” He nodded at the greenery that surrounded them.

“You sure did a great job redecorating your office,” he said.

She reached forward and took the recorder from him.

“Well,” she said, darkly, “if all you can do is make sarcastic comments …”

He pulled a wry grimace.

“There’s not much else to do around here,” he confessed. “I’ve rechecked the circuitry of the distress beacon we rigged up so many times I can do it in my sleep …”

“There was never any mention about the garden of Eden being boring,” she noted.

Koenig smiled.

“I don’t know, Helena,” he said. “Paradise may be a great place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there …”

“You miss Alpha, don’t you?” she said, softly.

“I certainly miss the rest of my crew. I can just see Paul and Sandra chewing out the rest of Command Centre crew while they wait until Luna gets close enough to launch a rescue mission …”

“If it ever gets close enough,” she warned.

“If it does, we’ll soon know about it,” he said. “We’ve a UHF nav. Beacon pouring out homing signals twenty four hours a day. Alpha would have to be dead to miss them.”

“Do you want to go back, John?”

He shook his head.

“I don’t know, Helena,” he replied. “Certainly we’re not going to get a better chance at a new home planet than this one …”

“But?”

He glanced at her.

“Call it crazy if you like,” he said, “but I’d kinda got used to living in a ferro-concrete box breathing canned air all the time. Sure, this is a fine, green planet, but back on Alpha we had a purpose in life. Merely struggling to survive meant we were doing more than just existing.”

“You’re suggesting that we’d have no purpose, no ambition, if we simply set down here like so many tourists?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t know, Helena,” he said, lifting his fingers to rub at the hair that covered his cheeks. He suddenly appeared to notice the beard. Neatly trimmed, but a beard nevertheless.

“Look at this, Helena,” he said, tugging at it. “I’d never have dreamed of growing one back on Alpha …”

She looked to the ground, nodding reluctantly.

“Yes,” she said. “Perhaps you’re right …”

A peal of girlish laughter echoed across the surface of the pool. She looked up, seeing Elnhe, nacked from the waist up and perched, somewhat precariously, upon a spike of rock jutting from the surface of the water, yelling insults at the more than appreciative group of males below her.

“They’re not much more than kids,” said Koenig, quietly.

“Some kids,” observed Helena. “Elnhe must be a thirty-eight D If she’s an inch …”

Koenig grinned.

“You know what I mean, Helena,” he said. “Now, can you imagine the rest of Alpha let loose here?”

“You wouldn’t even give them the chance?”

“That’s the point, Helena. There’s nothing more I’d want than to do that. They deserve this much, for all they’ve been through.”

“For all we’ve been through,” she reminded him. “And there’s nothing childish about Biorn and his people. They were ready to sacrifice a hell of a lot to help us.”

“Of course,” murmured Koenig, softly. “Have you any idea how the others feel?”

She closed the recorder and stood up, stretching the ache from her back.

“Alan and Carole are too busy with each other to have much of an opinion about making this our new home,” she reported. “They’re more relieved knowing that they’re both still alive to think too far into the future, or if they do they’re not advertising the fact much. As for Tony, he seems to be coping with Etak’s return to Skorr very well. In fact, they seem more like brother and sister every day. He’s even found time to pursue some mysterious project of his own …”

“Project?” Koenig interrupted. “What kind of project?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Something he and Skorr are working on. Whatever it is, it seems to involve great quantities of pipework pirated from the wreck.”

“As long as it keeps him happy,” commented Koenig, a suspicious frown on his face.

He took the recorder from her and followed her up the bank towards the path that led back to the camp.

“It’s hardly an ideal situation,” said Helena, glancing at him. “But I think there may be some good from all this. They’ll have both learned a lot about each other, and themselves in doing so. Not to mention a valuable lesson in friendship. One that may otherwise have been learned in far more tragic circumstances.”

“And that’s the verdict of our resident psychologist?”

She smiled, warmly.

“Yes, John,” she said. “I think it is …”

* * *

The commlock’s tiny viewscreen glowed angrily for a fraction of a second, the jumble of symbols spread across it jerking erratically through its scan field. Uttering a plaintive gurgle, the device cut out, to lie like so much inert junk in Carter’s hand.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” he muttered, peering into its innards through the inspection port he’d opened in its back. Poking a finger into the aperture, he juggled the probe leads that connected the external powerpack to the commlock’s exhausted batteries.

His efforts were rewarded with a jolt of electricity through his arm as a capacitor discharged itself through his central nervous system.

“Ah, to hell with it,” he growled, snatching the probe leads from the back of the instrument and slamming home the inspection port with an impatient twist of his hand. He pushed the connecting cables back into the power unit and, dropping the now useless commlock into the toolkit, stood and walked to the pod hatchway.

He leaned against the frame, peering into the cloudless sky at a large flock of birds wheeling above the forest. He frowned as the tortured squeal of tearing metal sounded from the tail section of the wrecked Eagle.

“Tony?” he called, dropping from the hatch.

“Oh, hi, Alan,” replied Verdeschi, emerging from beneath the aft inter-body with an armful of hydraulic piping clutched to his chest.

“What in space are you doing with all that junk?” challenged the pilot.

“Secret,” said Verdeschi, mysteriously. “Do you have a jerry-can lying about anywhere?”

“Sure,” said Carter, returning to the pod and lifting a white, polythene canister from the survival pack just inside the hatch. He handed it to Verdeschi, saying: “But there’s a whole stream full of water by the camp …”

“It’s the jerry-can I want , not the water,” he called. “Any luck with the commlocks?”

Carter shook his head.

“Once the batteries are flat you need a recharger,” he said. “I’ll authorise a mod to get them fitted into all passenger modules when we get back to Alpha …”

The two astronauts glanced at each other.

“If we get back to Alpha,” observed Verdeschi, speaking for both of them.

Carter nodded.

“It’s too late to be worrying on that score,” he noted.

“Yes,” agreed Verdeschi, unscrewing the cap of the jerry-can and pouring its contents onto the lush mat of grass at his feet. He shrugged his shoulders. “Well,” he said, hefting the lengths of piping, “whatever happens, I’ve still got a job to do …”

“What are you building?” demanded Carter.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” answered Verdeschi, a smile on his face.

“That’s what I’m worried about,” muttered Carter, darkly. He climbed back into the pod, turning to watch his colleague walk from the clearing.

He glanced at the gutted and discarded instrumentation that littered the floor of the module.

“I think,” he murmured, running the fingers of his right hand through his tousled mane of hair, “I could do with a swim.”

_Yes,_ he decided, _that may not be a bad idea after all. Who knows when I’ll next get a chance to enjoy the luxuries that a planet like this can offer?_

And, anyway, he could always fix the commlocks tomorrow …

* * *

By the time he reached the rock pool the sun was high in the sky, burning the moisture from the grass and cooking the golden sand beneath his feet. He smiled at the not inconsiderable acreage of sun-bronzed flesh about him, realising that were he to only half-close his eyes, he could almost imagine himself back on the beach at Bondi …

_Or Lady Jane,_ he decided, watching Elnhe, having assumed a languid posture, sunning herself on the pillar of rock emerging from the glistening water.

He nodded at her. _Well,_ he thought, _when in Rome …_

He shrugged the coveralls from his shoulders and plunged into the pool, rejoicing in the invigorating coldness of the water.

He surfaced, blowing the droplets of water from his nose and mouth, then struck out for the opposite bank with a powerful crawl that all the time on Alpha had failed to erase from his memory. He slowed as he approached the rock wall, rolling lazily onto his back. He reached up with his left hand to rub the front of his right shoulder. Carole had done a good job on the wound, he decided. Helena too. Soon, all he’d have to remind himself of the bodyguard’s arrow would be a short, white scar …

“What’s wrong, Alan?” called a voice. “Lost the soap?”

Surprised, he jack-knifed, submerging in a gout of spray. He resurfaced, wiping a hand across his face, to see Carole standing on the bank above him.

He recovered admirably.

“Hiya, Carole,” he said. “Come on in, the water’s great.”

She smiled.

“I don’t have a swimsuit,” she replied.

“Who said anything about a swimsuit?” he challenged.

“Oh,” she began, “I see …”

He grinned.

“Really?” he demanded. “You must have incredible eyesight. Or is it just this clear water?”

She laughed, then, glancing a little self-consciously about her at the groups of unclad natives that ringed the pool, peeled her gown from her body and dived from the bank into the crystal water.

Carter swam round her as she surfaced, grabbing an handful of thigh as he passed her, giving it an affectionate squeeze.

“Your hands are cold!” she gasped, kicking away from him.

“Well,” he said, following her as she backed against the bank. “You know the old saying: ‘cold hands, warm …’”

“Warm what?”

“Come here and I’ll show you.”

Putting up only the merest of token struggles, she curled into his arms.

“I thought kittens didn’t like water,” he whispered, kissing her.

“It all depends who they share it with,” she answered, rubbing her cheek against his.

“Better make the most of the beard,” he warned. “I’ll have to get rid of it as soon as we get back to Alpha.”

She glanced sideways at him.

“Whatever for?” she demanded, winding the fingers of her right hand into it.

“Against safety regulations,” he reminded her. “Flight crew have to be clean shaven, otherwise emergency breathing gear won’t seal properly.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “You’re probably right. And I think I prefer you without a beard, anyway. You’re hairy enough as it is …”

“Hah!” he replied. “You’re only jealous because you don’t have hairs on your chest.”

A mischievous grin spread across her face.

“But I do have hairs on my chest,” she said, in a tiny voice. “Yours …”

“That,” he murmured, squeezing her tighter in his embrace, “is the best idea you’ve had all day …”

* * *

9461 had never yet failed to produce a spectacular sunset, and the one that was to round off this particular day was no exception. Carter, propped against a convenient boulder, looked towards the naked girl at his side and smiled.

Leaning forward, he pressed the nail of the index finger of his right hand against the creamy skin of her throat, then ran if slowly down the front of her body.

By the time it has reached her navel, she was awake and squirming contentedly beneath his hand.

“You always stop before reaching the interesting bit,” she accused, dreamily.

“Always?” he challenged.

“Well,” she corrected, “almost always …”

“Time to get back, Kitten,” he said. “It’s getting late.”

She sat up, lifting her arms high above her head as she stretched the sleep from her body. She stood and, reaching for her gown, studied what she could see of her skin.

“This is the only way to get a suntan,” she sighed.

“Yes,” he agreed, watching her wrap the dress about herself. She glanced thoughtfully at him.

“Alan ..?”

“Yes, Kitten?”

“Do you like me ..?”

He frowned.

“What kind of a question is that?” he said, standing and climbing into his coveralls. “Of course I like you …”

“I mean, do you like my figure?”

He aimed a long, close look at her, studying her with a critical eye. A grin appeared on his face.

“Well … “ he began.

She shifted, uncomfortably.

“Alan, please. I’m serious.”

She turned before him, smoothing her gown to the front of her body.

“Do you think I’m perhaps a little too … boyish ..?”

“Erm …” he said, uncertainly, suddenly captivated by her movements. “That’s not what I’d say …”

“But I’m not … er … as well-endowed as some of the other girls here …”

“Does it matter?”

“That’s what I’m asking you, Alan.”

She stood before him, slipping her arms about his waist and leaning against his chest.

“What d’you think?” she said.

He lifted her chin with a finger tip, looking into her eyes.

“Carole, I love you as you are,” he said, softly.

“But what kind of figure do you prefer?” she demanded, obstinately. “I mean, how do I rate as far as measurements go?”

An eyebrow twitched.

“There is one way to decide,” he said, mysteriously, leading her towards the path that would take them back to camp.

“What’s that?” she replied, suspicion colouring her voice.

“Well,” he began, “I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m satisfied with just a generous mouthful …”

She blinked, looking at him in surprise, refusing to believe what she had heard.

“I …” she stammered, feeling her cheeks flush warmly. “Oh … Oh, Alan …”

She watched the grin spread across his face.

“That’s … that’s _rude!_ ”

“You started talking about it,” he said. “Them,” he corrected, squeezing her waist. He ran a fingernail down the side of her ribs, feeling her writhe with delight in his arms.

“You,” she hissed, “are nothing but a male chauvinist pimmmmph!”

She inhaled deeply as he released her from the kiss. She sighed.

“Thank goodness,” she added, leaning once more against his chest.

There was a thoughtful pause.

“A generous mouthful, eh?” she said, suddenly.

“What?” he replied.

“What you said.”

"Oh. Yeah, Carole.”

“You’ve never actually measured them …” she said, quietly.

Both Carter’s eyebrows arched across his forehead.

“Now who’s being rude?” he challenged.

“Only in self-defence,” she returned.

He smiled, an amused glint in his eyes.

“Carole, you’re beautiful,” he murmured. “You really are …”

“Why did you choose me, Alan?” she whispered.

“What d’you mean?” he asked, frowning.

“Out of all the girls on Alpha, why do you think I’m so special?”

“Because you are, that’s all.”

“But Alan. I’m … I’m just a plain, uninteresting medic …”

“Carole, there’s no way you can be uninteresting, and you’re certainly not plain. The sooner you get it into that thick skull of yours that you’re the second prettiest thing in the galaxy, the better.”

She frowned.

“Second prettiest?” she challenged warily. “What’s the first?”

Carter’s grin returned with a vengeance.

“A zero-timed Eagle, fresh out of the jigs and on pre-flight trials,” he said, kissing the end of her nose.

She laughed, her voice ringing joyously across the clearing.

“I’ll buy that,” she agreed, pulling herself tighter into his arms.

His lips closed on hers, breathing his love into her soul.

“Uh, Alan,” she murmured, when he finally released her. “It’s getting late. What about the Spivaks ..?”

“Let them find their own girlfriends,” he said, kissing her again.

“What’s that?” she gasped, suddenly.

“What’s what?” he replied, a worried expression on his face.

“Listen,” she urged. “That sound. Like thunder …”

“Thunder, hell,” he snapped. “That’s Eagle lift engines, or I’m a Pom spanner jocky!”

He peered into the darkening sky. A flash of golden sunlight against the slab-side of a passenger module announced the arriving ship’s presence.

“He’s heading for the wreck,” he said. “Come on,” he commanded, running towards the treeline. “We can be there before he finishes his postflight checks …”

* * *

Paul Morrow cast a critical eye over the remains of Eagle Thirteen.

“What a mess,” he breathed. “And it looks as though something’s been trying to pull it apart since it landed.”

He unfastened his couch straps and stood up.

“Sandra,” he called, “tell the other ships we’ve found ‘Thirteen. Eagles five and eight to remain in orbit. Eagles three and fifteen resume search pattern for the beak.”

“Will do, Paul,” she replied. “Think anyone survived the crash?”

He shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he confessed, walking through into the passenger module. “The pod looked as though it came down intact. Where the beak is is anyone’s guess …”

He lifted a laser from its rack and, checking its power charge, clipped it to his belt.

“Crack the hatch, Sandra. Let’s see if the natives are friendly.”

Morrow stepped from the pod, frowning into the dimness of the forest.

“Commander?” he yelled. “Alan? Helena ..?”

He walked forward, removing the laser from his belt.

“Is anybody out there ..?” he demanded.

“If I were a Spivak, you’d be dead by now.”

Morrow spun, the laser lifting automatically before him.

“Shooting an unarmed senior Eagle pilot with a laser is a capital offence,” warned Carter, stepping off the pod stairway.

“Where the hell did you come from?” called Morrow, incredulously, seeing Carole emerge from the scrub beyond the Eagle.

“You learn a lot of woodcraft sneaking up on girlfriends around here,” explained Carter, walking forward.

“My god,” murmured Morrow. “Alan, you crazy son of a bitch, it’s good to see you again. And Nurse Irwin,” he smiled, as she came to stand by the pilot’s side.

“Paul,” began Sandra, appearing in the hatchway behind them, “I’m getting some odd readings …”

Her eyes widened in amazement.

“Alan?” she said, uncertainly. “Alan!” she yelped, running towards him to throw her arms about his neck. “Oh, how marvellous,” she breathed, kissing him. “We thought you’d all been killed. Is the Commander all right? And Helena? What about Tony ..?”

Carter hugged her, then disentangled her arms from his neck.

“We’re all fine,” he promised. “Sandra, you wouldn’t believe what a fantastic place this is …”

“Uh, Alan,” began Morrow, “where’s the Commander? I’ve got to see him …”

Carter glanced at him, a puzzled frown on his face.

“He should be here any minute,” he said. “Why? Is there something wrong ..?”

“Paul!”

The group turned, seeing Koenig, Helena, Biorn, Skorr and Elnhe at his heels, march into the clearing.

“Commander,” called Morrow, walking forward to meet him.

“You made great time getting here,” began Koenig, smiling widely.

“Yes, Commander,” replied the officer, “and we’re going to be stuck here unless we break a few records getting out again.”

“What d’you mean?”

“We’re at limit range from Alpha,” explained Morrow. “And getting further out every minute. We’ve a safety margin of a couple of hours, but unless we get spacebourne, and soon, we’re gonna be stuck here.”

“No chance of operation Exodus?”

“Negative, Commander. We just haven’t enough ships.”

“Damn,” breathed Koenig. “All right, Paul. Load up and clear for launch. You said we had a safety margin?”

“I’d say about an hour, no more. And the quicker we are here, the less risk we take.”

Koneig nodded.

“Okay, Paul,” he said. “We have a few goodbyes to make.”

Morrow glanced at the puzzled group of natives that had begun to cluster about the Eagle.

“Understood, Commander,” he replied. “We’ll be ready when you are …”

* * *

The Alphans’ farewells to their hosts proved to be the most traumatic of all their experiences on the planet, and it was with heavy hearts – on both sides – that Koenig and Helena thanked them for all they had done to make their stay both pleasurable and instructive.

Biorn’s family had turned out in force to bid them good fortune and, in a simple, but typically touching ceremony, presented the Alphans with food and gifts to speed them on their way.

As the last offering was made, and the last (formal) farewells exchanged, Verdeschi came forward to stand before Etak.

“I, uh, I was never much good at saying goodbye,” he began, quietly. “But good luck, Etak, and get well just as soon as you can.”

He glanced at Skorr.

“And you make sure Biorn has plenty of grand-children to keep him in his old age,” he commanded.

Etak nodded.

“Do not worry,” she replied. “The first shall be a boy. We will call him Tony. The second will be John, the third, Alan …”

“The first child,” interrupted Skorr, darkly, “shall be a girl, and we will name her Helena. Her sister shall be named Carole, and then shall we consider whether there will be boy children to follow …”

Etak smiled, ruefully.

“If it is what Biorn wishes,” she said, softly. She looked into Verdeschi’s eyes, fighting to hold back her tears.

“Goodbye, Tony,” she whispered. “If you can, return to us soon. There will be a place in our lands, and in our hearts, for you and your people, forever …”

She embraced him, kissing him tenderly.

“Thank you, Etak,” he murmured. “For …”

She leaned back, smiling.

“For everything?” she suggested. He nodded.

“For everything,” he affirmed.

“May your gods bid you good speed,” called Bionr hoarsely. “Go with the hopes of a primitive native, my friends, and think of our world occasionally.”

“Will do,” promised Koenig. “Okay, team. Let’s get back to the Eagle before Paul blows a circuit breaker …”

“Skorr,” reminded Ebron. “Tony’s experiment …”

“Damn,” muttered Verdeschi, “I was forgetting about that.”

He glanced at Koenig.

“Go on to the Eagle, Commander,” he said. “I’ll catch you up.”

Before Koenig could reply, Skorr and the Alphan were running from the camp.

Helena shrugged her shoulders as Koneig shook his head.

“Come on,” said Koenig. “We’ll wait in the Eagle. Perhaps now we’ll find out what this crazy project of his is …”

* * *

Carter heaved a sigh of relief as he saw Verdeschi’s infra-red image glow on the monitor screen.

“Here he comes,” he warned. “Sandra, get him strapped in the moment he’s aboard. I’ve a thirty-second countdown racked up.”

Morrow, in the couch to his right, glanced towards him.

“You sure you’re in a fit state to fly this thing?” he said.

Carter aimed a dark look at him.

“I haven’t had my hands on one of these birds for close on two months, Paul,” he replied. “That’s almost as bad as taking my woman away from me. Once you’ve flown one you get to miss the sensation …”

Morrow smiled, ruefully.

“Talk about a crazy love affair,” he noted.

“Yeah,” muttered Carter, as Verdeschi clattered over the threshold of the hatch, “you ever try making love to an Eagle?”

Morrow shook his head.

“Can’t say that I have …” he began.

“Well, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. Thirty second count on my mark. Mark! Pod closed and locked, harness check. TacNav check, circuit breakers in, computer reads green, site clear …”

The forest glowed as the lift engines spewed flame. With the scream of a thousand demons, the Eagle thundered into the sky.

“Hey,” called Carter, as the ship ploughed smoothly into the eternal cold of interplanetary space, “did anyone see what Tony was carrying when he came aboard just then ..?”

* * *

Biorn stared in wonder at the machine as it drifted across the sky. Slipping an arm around his daughter’s shoulders, he looked into her face.

“Fine friends,” she said. “Good people. They have earned the right to survival.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “For returning my daughter to me, they shall remain forever in my heart.”

“Especially Tony,” she said, softly.

A look of puzzlement lit his face.

“You sound so sure, Etak, my child.”

She nodded.

“I am sure, father,” she replied, glancing into his eyes. “Helena was wrong,” she whispered.

“Wrong?”

“Aout our two peoples being incompatible.”

She smiled.

“I’m pregnant, father,” she said. “I carry Tony’s child …”


	26. Postscript

The electronic image flickered as the magnification jumped to its upper limit. The star, a mere pinprick now, glittered faintly at the center of the screen.

“There is goes,” said Koenig, looking up from the control desk. “Take your last look, everybody.”

Helena, leaning against the console, glanced towards him. He smiled back at her.

“Close,” he said, softly.

She frowned.

“What do you mean, John?”

“We very nearly made that planet New Earth.”

She nodded, noting his rueful smile.

“Yes,” she said. “It was like Earth, wasn’t it?”

Behind her, Carter slipped an arm round Carole’s shoulders, pulling her closer to his side.

“A bit too like Earth, Commander,” he said, feeling her arm tighten around his waist. “Full of people trying to kill each other.”

Koenig, eyes still on the screen, nodded thoughtfully.

“Perhaps,” he said, suddenly catching Helena’s eye. She stood a little nearer to him.

“Alpha’s doing fine, John,” she reminded him. “We can afford to wait until the right planet comes along …”

Koenig grinned.

“If only you realised how unscientific that statement was, Helena,” he began.

“Only a figure of speech, John,” she pouted.

Carter squeezed Carole’s shoulders.

“So who wants to be scientific, anyway?” he said.

“Hah!” called a new voice. Verdeschi, a tray laden with plastic cups filled with brown, strangely foaming liquid, strode through Command Centre’s two main doors.

He paused before Carter and Carole, nodding to each of them to take a cup of the unidentified fluid.

“That,” he continued, “is a great line to be coming from Alpha’s senior Eagle pilot.”

Carter, a dubious expression on his face as he examined the contents of his cup, was unimpressed.

“Technology isn’t everything,” he said, glancing up at Verdeschi, who continued to hand out the samples of his latest experiment to the Command Centre personnel.

He aimed a look at Carter.

“There you go again,” he said. “I bet you’re the only guy on Alpha that dreams in engineering specs …”

Carter unleashed a half-smile at Carole.

“I’ll tell you a dream I do have,” he said. “I’ll be in my quarters. It’s the dead of night, and there’s a buzz at my bedroom door. I’ll open it and there’ll be a girl, still wet from the shower, wearing nothing but a towel, carrying an ice-cold six-pack of Foster’s Lager and two glasses …”

Carter gave a deep, self indulgent sigh.

“What I wouldn’t give for a decent glass of beer."

“Try that,” said Verdeschi, nodding at the cup in his hand.

“I said beer, you maniac, not recycled hydraulic fluid.”

He glared at the beverage, recalling the last time Verdeschi had urged him to try one of his experiments. He raised the cup to his lips, taking a sip, holding the liquid against his tongue.

His expression melted, from mistrust to surprise, relief and amazement.

“Hey, this is not bad,” he said, draining the cup and looking in disbelief towards Verdeschi. “But how?”

“Humulus Lupulus,” answered Verdeschi, proudly.

“What?” said Carter, a look of mounting horror on his face.

“Scientific term for the hop plant,” he explained. “That container I picked up was full of hops. And I’ve a crop of seedlings in a hydroponic tank at this very moment,” he added, triumph in his voice.

Carter shook his head.

“Of all the cunning, conniving …”

“Uh, Alan …” began Carole, thoughtfully.

“Yes, Kitten?” he said softly.

“Well, now that we have the beer, If you can get some ice and a couple of glasses, I think I know where I could find a shower and the towel …”

Carter’s smile deepened, doing its deadly work. Her cheeks flushed as she turned her face shyly into his shoulder, suddenly conscious of the eyes of the command crew upon her.

Without comment, Carter reached forward and took the tray and the last cups of beer from the dumbfounded Verdeschi. He nodded politely to him and, in complete silence, escorted Carole through the Command Centre doors in pursuit of her shower.

“Goddamn’ smart-alec Australian,” commented Verdeschi, succinctly.

Smiling, Koenig shook his head, wrapping an arm around Helena’s waist. She looked towards him, a pensive expression on her face.

“I think,” she said, “we may need New Earth sooner that we’d thought, John.”

“Oh?” he replied. “And what makes you think that?”

She nodded towards the door.

“The way things look,” she explained, "pretty soon we’re going to need all the free space we can get just to cope with Alpha’s rising population …”

“In that case,” he said, releasing her and turning to the command crew about him. “Sandra, authorise the re-manning of the deepspace sensors, and Paul, warn stores we’ll be re-opening the Sledgehammer project.” He glanced up at the starfield on the main display screen.

“New Earth is out there,” he promised, “and when we find it I want to be ready …”


End file.
